Letters to a Lost Lover
by Sierra-Jae
Summary: AU. A future in New York City.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN:**__ This is the first chapter of an AU fic. Carl and Emma never separated, Will left for Broadway. Part one of this fic, for eight chapters, will be a series of letters, and part two will be written in the present. Please pay attention to the dates of each letter, for this will be the time frame that takes the characters to the present. However, all letters will be in order unless stated otherwise. Thanks for reading and reviewing!_

XXXX

_10 January, 2012 _

_William Schuester 297 East 49__th__ Street, Apartment 13 New York, NY 10017_

Will,

You have no idea how relieved I was to read your last letter. I was so happy for you, yes, but relieved more than anything. Prior to reading your letter, I was concerned that you had put yourself in a pickle of which you were unsure how to get out. You're brave. New York would be too busy for me, and I imagine the city to be a very frightening space. But it seems as though everything is working out for you. In my mind, you're so gleeful.

I spoke to Finn yesterday. He said that he speaks to you over the phone once a week. I'm proud of you. That boy needs you and you haven't forgotten him. He misses you, though. I just know it. He said you're very supportive of his choice to enlist in the army, and while I'm conflicted, I think that you're right. He's a loyal boy, and if he grows up to become half the man you are, he'll be a wonderful asset to our country in any position.

It's their senior year, and although many members of your glee club are leaving, Shelby has managed to recruit some wonderful performers. I'm sure Finn has told you all about them. Don't worry, Will. Your glee club is in safe hands.

Thank you for the tickets to the musical. _Mary Poppins_ has always been one of my favourites, and to see you perform in it would have been amazing. Don't belittle yourself and your success. You may not have a named role, or an understudy quite yet. But you sing and dance with the company. That's huge, Will. I'm so proud.

I wanted to be there at your first performance. I wanted so badly to be there. And I thought about it. I stared at the tickets, read the seat numbers so many times I had them memorised. It was very considerate of you to include a ticket for Carl. Thank you, Will. That there were two tickets in the envelope had me opening the American Airlines website to book seats in first class. I know you meant well by sending two tickets. But I couldn't sit in that audience next to my husband and watch you, Will. It's wrong.

Have you made friends in New York? Surely you have. Is the cast of _Mary Poppins_ large? Are they friendly? How many costume changes do you have? Is the dancing challenging? Are you seeing anyone? Can you date your fellow cast members?

I don't want you to be lonely.

Do you feel guilty? I don't. I hope you don't regret what we did together. It was beautiful, Will. So beautiful. I can remember every detail, the way we touched, and breathed, and lived as one. Sometimes, I feel as though your eyes haunt me. Other times, I think I make it up, sensationalise what we shared that night in your bed. Am I crazy to make it something it wasn't? Was it as wild for you as it was for me? Actually, don't tell me. I don't want to know. No, maybe I do.

I'm conflicted.

What I do know is that I'm married, and I know that it was wrong. It was so wrong to make love to you when another man is so kind, and generous, and good-heartedly committed to me. Carl is wonderful and perfect. It was awful for me to do that to him. Especially when he waited so long for me; a virgin until you.

All of that aside, I don't feel ill remembering us together. What you and I had...Will, I couldn't die without being with you. We have this irresistible connection, and now that I've been with you, and my husband, I know that what we have between us is too intense. It's too deep, Will.

Passion doesn't mean everything. That's what I tell myself when I look around and see my life, and the happiness I bring to people- to my husband.

Now you are gone, and for the first time in my life, I feel like a married woman. Please, be happy in New York and let me have this life. Every day I convince myself this is what I want. And I'm almost there. I'm almost there to the point that I no longer have a choice.

You asked for my phone number. I can't give you that.

Something has changed, Will. Everything is fine, and I'm very, very happy here in Lima, so there's no need to worry. But someone else's life is quickly becoming just as important as mine. Carl is my husband, and he is a good man, and our commitment to each other is stronger than ever.

I know that I led you on the last time we spoke. I know that. I'd take it back if I could. I'd take it back because this needs to stop.

In your last letter you asked how I am. You asked many questions actually, some I refuse to answer because I'm married. Your words bring a blush to my cheeks, Will, that's all I can say in response. How am I? You ask. Doctor Shane is very impressed with how I am handling my life here in Lima. The last time we were together, my OCD was improving. Of course, considering how we were, how we expressed our...affection. But I'm getting better. I take meds for my anxiety, but I've just changed from the type of medication I was on. Change is good, Doctor Shane says. With therapy twice a week, I think I'm going to be okay.

Maybe one day, when your life is established in New York, maybe I'll come and see you, Will. I'll visit you on Broadway. A surprise, perhaps. Would you like that? We'll be older, wiser. Our relationship won't be so strained. I'll be a better person, too.

Last time we spoke, you told me that I wasn't in love with my husband. I do love Carl. I love him very much, and how I share my love is not for you to decide. I made love to you, finally. But we want different things, and soon, we'll really have those things. You already do.

I can't have you sending letters to the house anymore. I've purchased a post office box that you can write to. The return address on this envelope is the box. I don't know how often I'll collect the letters, but you need to know that I will. I'll read them, Will.

I'm going away for a while, Will. Carl and I are going to his father's home on Cape Cod for a few weeks, until February. Carl Howell Snr is the pioneer of a major fishing business on the Cape, and is being honoured by the Massachusetts Business Association. Carl adores the Cape, yet I don't know how I'm going to deal with the smell of fish.

But, Will, my adventures are nothing compared to yours.

I wish you the best of luck. You're a wonderful performer and Broadway is lucky to have you.

A year ago we were both messes. Now, we're okay. We've come far, Will.

May New York offer you as much love and respect as Lima did.

Emma Pillsbury-Howell.


	2. Chapter 2

_Mrs Emma Pillsbury-Howell_

_PO BOX 92_

_Lima, Ohio_

April 23, 2012

Dear Emma,

Finn rang the other day. I could sense he was holding back something, and at first I thought it was that he had gone against my advice and decided to take Burt's offer to work in his shop full time instead of following his dreams. Finn has such potential. Then he started mumbling about Rachel calling me if he didn't go through with it. I was busy at the time. I had a guest for dinner that night-a friend from the cast. I told Finn I'd call him back the next day. I checked my emails the next morning. An email from Rachel was flagged red with an attachment from the McKinley Bulletin. I see that you were granted the scholarship entitlement to grant to one of your students at the end of this school year last Friday. Congratulations. Your picture next to the article was also lovely. But it's obvious, Emma. Congratulations. You're going to be a wonderful mother.

You're pregnant, and you didn't tell me. Isn't the withholding of the truth just as bad as lying? Emma. Why didn't you tell me?

You expected me to write you many letters, I assumed from the tone of your last letter. I imagine you were surprised to find your new post office box empty when you returned from Massachusetts. I'm sorry. This isn't a game. You know that, and you pretend I'm more intense than I am. Sometimes I think that maybe it's easier for you to find a balance that way- by pretending I'm the one who is clingy. I don't mean to sound pretentious, but I don't want to play anymore, either.

Cape Cod isn't far from New York City. Closer than Lima, Ohio. Why didn't you visit? We're friends. There's no need for awkwardness. I don't know why you're so conflicted, and I can't help you with that.

How are you dealing with your pregnancy? I'm sure Carl is just ecstatic. I'm sure you're very happy. It must be truly amazing- for both you and Carl. How far along are you? Four, five months? I imagine it would be very messy for you, so I hope your own healthy is perfect. Don't compromise yourself, Emma. Please don't give away everything to make Carl happy. He needs you to be okay, too. You should tell him if you're not well. He'll help you; he loves and admires you, Emma. You're his family.

I don't feel guilty, Em. Suddenly, I've realised that you have a life in Lima, a brand new life that is flourishing inside of you. That is remarkable. Gorgeous. Thinking of your new life, I only remember our night together in May fondly. The past is the past, and it is now eleven months since we were together. Almost a year, Em. So much has changed.

Each night I go on stage to tell a story to such a diverse audience. The cast is large, yet strangely intimate, and I feel very fortunate to be surrounded by such a family. I never thought that I could find the feeling that New Directions gave me, and although I haven't quite discovered it in this manic, selfish city, it calls to me, and I know it's only a matter of time until I say, 'here you are, I've been looking for you since my first day on Broadway.' I'm excited, and I feel young again. There's such opportunity. For everybody.

Too soon, my time with _Mary Poppins_ will be over, and I'll have to move on. I've begun auditioning for other shows, but I have only had one call back, and I don't think it was very successful. My will is stronger now, so I'm trying. I'm trying really hard.

There's so much not to tell you and not enough to tell you. I'll tell you anyway. Do you ever find something, make a discovery in your life about yourself or the world, however insignificant as it is, and think, 'this will be my special secret, and I won't tell anybody'? I have that experience every day here in New York. In Lima, I used to find little wonders that brightened my day, and I'd promise myself it would only belong to me. But by 4th period I'd be in your office, and the trivial tale would slip from my lips and bring a smile to yours. I couldn't help myself. I needed to make you smile. I'd give a part of myself to you as I sat in your glass-walled office, and I never regretted it.

I don't regret our night together. But I can't forget it like I eventually do those tiny experiences I wanted desperately to keep for myself. Every day I think about you, what it was like to be a part of you as we moved together, and it makes me resent you. I don't regret it. But I resent it.

I'm not going to tell you I love you. I've said it enough. But I am going to tell you about my New York, and hopefully, by telling a personal tale, bring a smile to your lips. Lips I've kissed many a time, but only passionately that night in May.

Two weeks ago, I was sitting in Central Park, waiting by Bow Bridge for a friend that I met at another audition. I had two coffee cups in hand, and I was looking down below to the water when I felt this indescribable- You know what? I'll tell you when you come to New York.

I understand that you couldn't come to see me. It's okay. Maybe in the future. That sounds amazing, Emma. Bring your family. Do you know if you're having a boy or a girl? I'm sorry if that's too personal.

I'm not dating seriously. People come and go in New York, and that's fine. I don't want to get caught up in that realm of casual love, because I know how dangerous and destructive it can be. But I miss being close to somebody, yes. Of course I do. At the moment, performing is offering me enough love.

Sometimes I think I see you in the crowds. One day I followed a woman for three blocks until I caught a glimpse of her face and she looked nothing like you. Everyone looks like you until they don't. For those seconds, or minutes if I'm unlucky, you're here.

What do you do with my letters, Emma? Do you keep them? Do they stay locked away in the post office box? I'd rather you shredded them than keep them hidden in a public place. More than that, I'd rather you keep them so that one day, when we're old and grey we can look back at how we were. What we felt for each other.

I'm here if you ever need me, Emma. For anything. You know my address. If it all becomes too much, I have a life here that would be happy to welcome you. My life would be more than happy to welcome you; you, and your beautiful child.

I hope Carl is good to you. Don't doubt yourself. You have a tremendous road ahead of you.

Best of luck to you, Emma.

Love, Will.


	3. Chapter 3

_William Schuester _

_297 East 49th Street,_

_Apartment 13 _

_New York, NY 10017 _

* * *

><p>August 5th, 2012<p>

* * *

><p>I'm scared, Will.<p>

If all goes well, this time next month I'll be a mother. But I can barely take care of myself. What if something happens to the baby? Carl will be so upset. I'll be so upset. God, I've read so many pregnancy books that I'm just trembling with nervousness. What if I hurt the baby? What if something happens to me during the birth? I don't want my daughter to grow up without a mother.

I'm having a baby girl. We haven't decided on a name yet. Do you have any names that come to mind? You're so creative that you probably have a million ideas! However, I think I'm going to wait to name her when I meet her properly. When I see her eyes, I'll know who she is. You must have a suggestion, Will!

I know you have suggestions. I know that your holding back with your own opinion and letting me breathe. I told you to stop, so thank you. Thank you for respecting me. You must think I'm mad. I think I'm mad. I want so much, you know? I think I want something that isn't right, Will.

I keep your letters. I keep them hidden between my yearbooks in a chest in the attic. I want my daughter to have them, to know that there's a certain love out there that is greater than whatever amazes her. I want her to know our love, so that she'll always strive for greater adoration if she knows any doubt at all. Will, I used to think I loved you before we made love. I mean, I was crazy about you. It was already a love story. But staring into your eyes when we were together made me see you and an intensity I've never known. Did you see me looking back?

I think I've only felt complete the night we were together. Maybe it's different for a man and a woman, but I think that maybe, in some strange way, you felt fullness, too. Pressure, maybe. Heat. Was it hot for you? Yes, I think lovemaking is all about temperature. At the moment, my life feels lukewarm. My life isn't about me anymore. Do you think I'll be okay?

I'm afraid I'll love my child too much that I'll forget you. My heart swells each time I feel my little girl move inside of me, and I already know that I love her more than I'll love anybody. It's a different type of love, Will. And I'm so frightened that it's going to be better than what we had.

Every time I feel my baby- Carl's baby, kick, I'm dizzy with love. I feel so strong and important, and I've only ever felt that way when I was with you, when I was your best friend. When you get the opportunity, I think you're going to be such a wonderful father. You're sensitive and fair, and you understand children so well. Maybe you should date, Will. Marry a beautiful Broadway dancer and have a child with her. Raise your children in Manhattan and let them be strong. Let them be stronger than I will allow my daughter to be; don't protect your children too much, because life needs to be lived.

I learnt so much from you, Will. If you asked me what it was that I learnt, I could sum it up in one experience. No, it wasn't the one night that we writhed together in heat. No. It was the day you and I frantically drove to Sue's home in a panic that she had tried to commit Sue-icide. Driving home after that experience, I cried. I cried, you stopped your old, safety-hazard of a car on the side of the highway, and you gathered me in your arms as I sobbed with fright. You told me it was okay, and that just because I was a guidance counsellor, it wasn't my responsibility to save everyone all the time. You're a wonderful teacher.

Speaking of teachers, Sue has been making remarks about how overweight and hugely pregnant I am. She says that it's your baby because I'm so fat. I've told her that you left almost a year ago, but she only responds that I must have been in labour for the last two months and refuse to give birth because I'm afraid everybody will know it's your baby. Last week in the lunchroom, she offered me aspirin to help with the 'labour pains'. As irritating as she is, she reminds me of you. She teases me about you every day, and in a sadistic way, I'm very, very grateful to her. Oh, she also has a calendar that she marks off in the staffroom each day to count the time since you've left. It's up to eleven months now. She never fails to leave a red cross through each day. Take that however you will.

I packed up my desk yesterday. I'm on maternity leave for six months, but I don't know how quickly I'll be able to go back to work. I'm not entirely comfortable with my parents babysitting, and childcare is just a nightmare. I just...I don't know what to do. Carl says everything will work out the way it was supposed to.

Carl dotes on me. He dotes on me too much, and I only remember how sweet you were with your generosity to give me space. I need space, and when I don't, I need passion. You understood that. Especially that night. You opened my eyes to a whole new world of intimacy. I wonder if I'll ever go back.

These last few months, he hasn't touched me the way a husband should. Not the way you would. You'd worship me, wouldn't you? I crave your hands, the gentle way they coax pleasurable agony, and I ache for you. I'm so frustrated that thinking about my...desires, only upsets me. I cry over you, Will, and soon I won't be able to blame it on hormones. It's supposed to be you; you're supposed to be mine.

I've made a horrible mistake. I think that maybe I don't love my husband.

Maybe it's the pregnancy. _God._ I want to make love to you again. I _always_ want to make love to you. Remember how slowly we made love the first time? Madly, the second time that same night? We were like animals the third time. All in one night. So much love. So much _sex_. I wish I could describe it to you, the way you can. Explicitly. Maybe one day I could. In the meantime, I'll remember how it was. Oh, Will. I've never felt my body shudder that way. I've never felt so darn hot. Most importantly, I've never been held that way. You held me so tightly I felt I couldn't breathe. But I'd give up air for you. Right now, I'd sacrifice air for any kind of passion you offered. Will, I'm just...I'm so lonely.

I see Doctor Shane four times a week at the moment. I'm not handling the pregnancy well at all. At first it was just hormones, and everything was bearable. I'm so frightened and confused. I doubt that anyone can help. Everything will be better when my daughter arrives, that's what Carl says. He works a lot.

Your career seems to be very successful. Your life seems wonderful. Exciting. New York offers so much to you. Such a different life to mine, isn't it?

Oh, Will. I want you so badly. My heart wants you. My mind needs you. My body craves you. It's unladylike, I know.

But I'm desperate in every way.

I don't think I can handle this anymore. Tell me what to do, Will. Tell me what to do, and I'll do it.

Is it worth my life if I leave my husband now, and come to New York?

I printed an ultrasound image for you and slipped it inside this envelope. You're probably already holding it. It's the last ultrasound I had. It was taken yesterday. I'm sorry if it upsets you. I just want you to know me. All of me, and the future I can't live without.

I love you.

Emma.


	4. Chapter 4

_**AN:** Thank you to everyone who has reviewed the last two chapters. You always have such insightful points to make, and it really makes me think, so thank you. We are halfway through the series of letters that Will and Emma have written to each other. The interlude between the letters and part two will be the flashback from Will and Emma's night together that they consistently refer to. Again, thank you so much for your lovely reviews._

* * *

><p><em>Mrs Emma Pillsbury-Howell<em>

_PO BOX 92_

_Lima, Ohio_

* * *

><p>August 12, 2012<p>

* * *

><p>You need to stay with your husband, Emma. You have a family, a beautiful life in Lima, and although you seem so confused, your daughter needs a father- her real father. Carl will adore his little girl, and you need to let him do that.<p>

As for you, Emma: my heart aches with empathy.

I was heartbroken to hear how upset you are. Sweetheart, you are so loved. Carl loves you, and the stress that your body is overwhelmed by is only the result of the love your daughter has for you. She may be weighing you down in every aspect, but it's her reminder that she's there and she loves you. She's growing inside you, and the more you know that, the more your body aches for something indescribable. Don't fret. When you a frightened and reserved, your baby knows it. Nothing can grow in the cold darkness. She needs your warmth and light, Emma, and she knows you love her. Soon she will be able to return your love, and your worries will cease. Please don't be upset.

It is not my objective to smooth out your worries. Never would I do that. And if I were with you, I would sit and listen to you. But in a letter, I can only read your feelings and respond with advice. Soon, everything will be fine. Wait for your daughter. Give your life a chance. If it disappoints you, there's always more. Wherever that may be.

The ultrasound image was so special. Thank you for sending it to me. I have it on my fridge. Did Carl go with you to the appointments? Does he have the ultrasound framed in his office? He should. Does he take pictures of you? Does he frame those pictures? He should.

I believe there are so many things he should do for you, because in the end, you chose Carl, and he needs to be better than I ever could be. He should tell you that you're glowing, he should listen to your concerns, and devour your happiness. But most importantly, he should be with you always. He loves you, Emma. I know he does, because he fought for you. Just because he isn't making love to you doesn't mean he doesn't tell all his patients about his beautiful, pregnant wife, and discuss parenting tips with his receptionist. Sex isn't everything, Em. But if he doesn't desire you, there's something wrong. There's something very wrong, because not a day went by at McKinley that I didn't undress you with my eyes.

I'm absolutely certain that you are stunning in your pregnancy. You're not mad; Carl is mad. He's mad not to touch his gorgeous, pregnant wife. He should pleasure you, Emma. He should pleasure you the way you need to be pleasured. You're right when you said that I know how to pleasure you well. I know how to make you whimper and moan, kiss and writhe. But Carl knows how to pleasure you in the same way- just give yourself over to his love, ask for him, because his hands work the same as mine. When he's touching you, when he's inside you, imagine. Imagine me, Emma. But always be his wife the next morning.

I had a dream about you three weeks ago. I've had sex dreams about you before. Wild, heated dreams that end before either of us climax. It's the worst when neither of us can finish, and I'm left with a surreal ringing in my ears- your high-pitched cries of pleasure. But weeks ago I dreamed that we were lying on my bed in my parent's home. We were kissing, Em. Soft, gentle kisses. So innocent. You wouldn't stop whispering of how you were a virgin, and that you couldn't go any further than kissing. I agreed, and told you I was a virgin, too. We were young, so young. Perhaps sixteen, seventeen in the dream. SO inexperienced. But I couldn't get closer to you. I rested my hand on your ribcage, and looked down between our bodies. In my dream you were pregnant. Our bodies were as aged as they are now, but our mental existence was young. Your hair was soft, styled as I knew it. But we had a clean slate, Emma. We hadn't ruined anything, because we weren't yet awakened. It was perfect. On and on we kissed.

You say you're frustrated. That your body is humming with sexual desire. _Emma. _Now you know what it's like to not be in control. I only wish I could be there to...help you out. And I would. Even though you're married, I'd be there for you in that way. If Carl works late as you say, I'd make it easier. I'd satisfy your cravings. But I'm miles away in New York.

I've moved to a larger apartment. It's further from the theatre I work at, but the street is quieter and the rent is cheaper. I no longer get hate mail from Sue. Speaking of mail, I think its best if I mail you the address after your daughter is born. If you know where I am, it will only tempt you these next few weeks. And I don't want to tempt you. Tempting you was never my intention, as I'm sure teasing me was never yours. You're too kind, too lovely to tempt.

I'm dating someone. Her name is Anna, but I call her Annie. She's a dancer for an off-Broadway production. I don't think you'd know of it. She is so sweet. I think you'd really like her. She's tall, my height. She has a wonderfully free spirit, which at times can be very odd. She dances everywhere, balancing against every piece of furniture. She sings loudly and beautifully, especially songs her Nonna taught her when she was young. Annie's Italian, Em. She has long, thick black hair, and she curses frequently. Last week, she convinced me to let her dye my hair sandy blonde. Annie makes me feel young again. I like her very, very much.

I think of you every day, Emma. I think of your tight skirts and your adorable smile. I remember how your eyes would listen and gleam with soul. You were cultured in your own way, and you knew the world so completely. You were safe in your own little bubble, and only lust could steal you away. I stole you away. And you enjoyed every moment of it. I think of you, always.

Name your little girl Lacey. It's a beautiful name. So delicate, just like you. I think she's going to have dark features, so unlike yours. But she's going to be stunning. I would love so much to see pictures of Lacey when she's born. By the time you receive this letter, it should be any day now, I suppose. I want to know everything about her- her weight, birthday, if she has ten perfect toes.

I'm jealous, Emma. I'm afraid, just like you, that you'll look at her and see your life in a new light. I admit that. But I'm mostly jealous of you. You're going to have a precious part of you to love. I'll be alone, whoever I'm sleeping next to at night. I'm not jealous of little Lacey, your husband's daughter, who gets to have you all to herself. I'm jealous of you, because you'll always have someone to really love without question, whether this thing between us continues to exist or not.

It may sound silly, and I apologise if this offends you. But I believe you'll always share your deep, true love between Lacey and I. We both know that Carl doesn't really fit into the equation. And that's okay, because you're doing the right thing for the life inside you. We're doing the right thing for everyone. But I'm happy to share your love for me with the beautiful chance you took- Lacey. I care for her, because you care for her, and in some alternate universe, in the dreamland where you're my wife and life, Lacey will always be my daughter, too.

Please don't be afraid of the love you have for your daughter. Never be afraid, Emma.

I give you all my love and hope for the birth, the most important moment of your life- and the rest of it.

Will.


	5. Chapter 5

_William Schuester _

_274 East 57th Street, _

_Apartment 2 _

_New York, NY 10017 _

* * *

><p><em><em>13<em>_th__ March, 2013__

* * *

><p>She's so beautiful, Will.<p>

Lacey was born on the 4th of September, three weeks prematurely. I was okay. She was okay. The doctors said that it wasn't unusual for a mother under high stress to go into labour befire their due date. Mine was too soon, I know. At first, I felt very guilty about that- that before she could even take her first breath my OCD had affected her life. But she makes me feel more important each nd every day that I no longer resent myself. She weighed six pounds and two ounces the night she was born. She's still small, but she's developing more and more each day.

That first cry she voiced; I'll never forget it. She wailed so loudly for a brief moment, and then she stopped, and her cries became gentle whimpers. Oh, she was so small and dainty when the midwife placed her in my arms. I was scared I'd hurt her, drop her. I've never been around babies until my daughter. Even now, after six months of being a mother, the feeling of uncertainty still arrests me sometimes. Lace is generally a quiet baby, but she has a strong set of lungs that she knows how to put to use when she wants to.

The moment I held her in my arms for the first time, I realised how selfish I had been by asking you to want me. Her dark eyes stared up at me, and she was so hopeful, so amused by my tearful expression. It was like she knew me, Will. And she loved me. Nobody has ever shown me such pure love without causing me to question who I am, or if I'm worthy of that love. I can't disappoint her. For the first time in my life, somebody truly needs me, and I'll never give that up.

I know it's been six months since I've last written, and I'm sorry if I worried you. You were right. I did need to stay in Lima. I needed familiarity, because everything is so different. I was scared I'd go crazy being home alone all day with a baby who can only offer gibberish, but I'm calm here. I'm as relaxed as I can be.

Carl's wonderful with Lace. He bathes her and feeds her and changes her diaper. He does all the things a father should. Sometimes I feel that he may be a little bit detached from her, though. It's terrible of me to compare, but I can't stop myself from thinking that you'd come home from work and go straight to your little girl, instead of to your study to check on emails and patients who have called you afterhours. But you don't have patients. You're not a dentist, of course. It's silly, but sometimes I wish Carl would just sit and hold her for hours like I do. He's probably just tired. He works long hours.

Oh, gosh! I must tell you about my mother. Gosh Will, I hate to complain. But my mother is absolutely overbearing. Carl says she's just being a grandmother, but he isn't here during the day when Mom shows up unannounced and Lace has managed to have splashed water all over the bathroom tiles, mat, and if I'm not holding her legs down firmly, me. It's just a mess upon another mess. Sometimes I wish Carl's parents were alive, and maybe my mother in law would be a calming presence. Probably not. Maybe. What's your mother like, Will?

My OCD has become much, much better. It's crazy. I'm a mother, wiping up drool and changing diapers. Lacey has helped me, Will. My daughter needs me, and my needs have dissolved. I'm left with Lacey all day. Sometimes I break down when she's asleep. Some days I can't handle it. I go into the nursery, and I just sit and hold her to me for hours, feeling her tiny heart beat against mine. But I'm okay. I'm back on the medication, and things are beginning to regulate. That doesn't mean that sometimes I don't wear pyjamas all day. I bet you can't even imagine that!

It's silly, but sometimes I tell her about you, as I'm rocking her to sleep, or bathing her. I tell her about the glee club, how you're a star now. I tell her that her dreams can come true, too. She could go to New York, and build a life for herself as you have.

Anna seems so...free-spirited. Exotic. I hope she's special enough for you. I hope she whole-heartedly gives you the love that you deserve and crave. I love that her adventurous spirit is rubbing off on you, and you're embracing your creative talents. But you dyed your hair blonde? Really, Will?

I think that Carl is having an affair. There's a new dentist who is practicing in the office Carl works in. She's stunning. She's blonde, tall and so incredibly smart. She's sweet, too. Last week I took Lacey in to see Carl at lunch, and Chloe was at reception with a patient. She just cooed over my daughter, and Lacey was smitten with her. When Carl finished up, the way he looked at Chloe as she tickled his daughter gave it all away. I haven't let him touch me for six months. I'm not scarred from Lacey's birth, but I just...I'm not ready. My body isn't as it used to be, and I'm more aware...of everything. I don't think it's just an affair. I think he's fallen in love with her.

Thank you for sending me your new address. I've included photos. The one with Lacey in her tiny little parker was taken just last week. I let her touch the snow in the front garden when she started to become aware of her surroundings recently. She was so fascinated by the snow, how it would fall and cover our garden. The other photos are older. My favourite is the one of the two of us on the blanket on the living room floor. It's so simple and real, I think. She looks nothing like me, as you can probably see from the photo. You know, if you've forgotten what I look like! It really has been so long, Will. In just a few months, you will have been gone for two years. The dates are all printed on the back of the photos if you're curious or confused.

I read over your letter, the questions you ask, the confessions you make, and I don't know how to respond. You're so honest, so romantic, and I'm exhausted, Will. I'm confused, exhausted, and lonely. The only stable thing I have in my life right now is Lacey.

I read to Lacey at night, before Carl arrives home, before I put her to bed. I think she's quite advanced for her age, and sometimes she slurs syllables that I hope will form a word, but they end up being gibberish. I sit for so long, waiting, encouraging her, but she's so cheeky that she knows I'm waiting, and then she stops. She's so lovely, Will. My little Lacey.

It's a beautiful name. Carl wanted to name her Jessica, but it wasn't exactly my first choice. It didn't even make the list. When I received you letter and your suggestion, I threw the list away without a second thought.

I know one day you'll meet her, little Lacey with her dark curls and wide brown eyes. She's such a happy, quiet child, and I know that you'd adore her. Everyone does, but you...you'd love her.

Thank you, Will. For everything.

Until next time,

Emma.


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: Firstly, thank you to everyone who has reviewed my work as of late. It's lovely to hear the opinions of those few who do kindly choose to leave a response. Secondly, I am currently unable to fill the prompts left in the tumblr ask box as well as writing this series, but if I do have time in the future, I'll try my best. Thanks for reading!_

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><p><em>Mrs Emma Pillsbury-Howell<em>

_PO BOX 92_

_Lima, Ohio_

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><p>February 26th, 2014<p>

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><p>Emma,<p>

I'm sorry this letter has taken so long. I think I waited a while to write because I knew that you needed time.

What a year you had!

Lacey is the most beautiful child I have ever seen. I say that in all honesty. You're right; she doesn't really look a thing like you, but for her eyes. I imagine she's talking now. She'll be two in September, right? The terrible twos! She must be so energetic! Does she go to day-care while you're at work? It must have been hard to say goodbye to her each morning. At least you spend your days helping and inspiring other children. I can imagine that it would make saying goodbye to Lacey a little easier. The love you have for her is so wonderful. I can only imagine how amazing it would be to be able to look at your own child and know that you mean everything to her. I want children, Em. But sometimes I wonder if I'll ever have a child, let alone a larger family. I'll be thirty-five this year.

I'm sorry that Carl is so distant from Lacey. I hope he's closer to her now that she's growing up. In your letter you wrote that you wished Carl's parents were still alive. I was wondering if maybe you were just in a rush to get your words out, or if something had happened to Carl's father. I did some research- it wasn't hard to find- and I read that Carl's father had passed just before Lacey's birth. I'm not trying to give Carl the benefit of the doubt, but maybe he was just grieving his father's death and that distanced him from his daughter. A year has passed, he has probably changed, and I realise this. Perhaps last he was jealous of your bond with Lacey, and he sought out a different love in the other dentist. I hope for your sake that his fling is over. It troubles me to say this, but for my sake, I hope it isn't. Realising that, and now aware of my true wanting, I have decided to begin writing to you once more.

I was thinking of coming home to Lima for a little while this past Christmas to see my parents—and you. But my parents ended up coming to New York to see me. So there was once less reason to take the trip.

Guess who I have coffee with once a week? Broadway's Rachel Berry. Well, it's more like Rachel Berry has coffee with Broadway's Will Schuester once a week, but she's getting there, and I'm so, so proud of her. She works so hard, and though she's missing Kurt after he left NYADA for an off-Broadway show, she's at the top of her game. Each week I tell her that it won't be long before she's a star, and each week she continues to remind me that she's well-aware of that. Sometimes we talk about Lima, about the lovers we left behind. But those special people are hard to talk about when you know you won't be seeing them when you go home at night. It's nice to have a friend from home, though. This city can be lonely at times.

I've been performing with a new cast, workshopping a new musical called _Triumph, _and I think it's really going to be a hit. I hope so, anyway. I'm the lead, Em. The lead of a brand new show. It won't open for a while, and it's still in the early stages. I haven't been this happy for a long time. But I know I could be happier. I know who could make me happier.

Are you happy, Em? Do you smile at least once a day? Do you blush when your husband so much as looks at you? Do you let yourself go in every way when you're _with_ him? Are you content being with a man who is in love with another woman? I don't think Annie was.

I've broken up with Annie. We were only together for six months, but we weren't right for each other. I wasn't in love with her. I was enchanted, yes. But I never had that feeling with Annie that I had with you. Satisfaction wasn't nearly as...satisfying.

Annie found your letters. I don't know how many she read, or if she read them at all, but the fact that I'd kept handwritten letters from another woman in this day and age must have reflected something. I haven't seen Annie in ten months. I haven't had a real relationship in ten months.

I feel this gaping hole in my heart for you. I want you in every way. I look at the photo of you and Lacey each morning, and I wonder how you are. The photo is held to my fridge with a McKinley magnet. You're just so beautiful as a mother. You look...sexy. I'm sorry if that's inappropriate. My heart just hammers knowing that you're a mother. It makes me want you even more for some strange, silly reason. All I know is that I'm burning for you, Emma. I can remember everything about our night together, and I have to swallow over the lump in my throat when I think about it. I want it again. Over, and over, and over again.

I'm only going to say this once more. I can't live in this limbo of pretending one day you'll come to New York and be with me. I need to know if it will happen, or if it won't. If it won't, don't reply to this letter. Never write to me again, Emma. I can't be just your friend, making trivial correspondence. If you know in your heart of hearts that you'll always stay with Carl, then never send me a letter again. I never want to hear from you. If you husband is still crazy enough to cheat, don't tell me that maybe one day you'll be with me when the time is right, only because you're secretly afraid that Carl will leave you. The time is right now. I'm not the back-up plan for 'one-day'. I'm thirty-five. I want a family. I want you. Now. I'm not here forever as a distant memory to tease in the present, or an available fantasy of 'what-if'.

Leave Carl, and tell me you're mine. Stay with Carl, and never write to me again. Those are your choices, and I will respect you for whichever decision you make. You're so smart.

If you can't sleep at night, come to New York. There's a playground on the next block, and every day I walk by it and see the children playing, I imagine taking Lacey there before breakfast, while you're still in bed, tangled naked in my sheets. I'd bring you coffee and croissants, because it's the New York thing to do. And that's just something little that New York can offer—that I can offer. The small things...they're the most important.

But if you'd rather drink tea forever, then please, let me live my life and let me find someone who could make me smile. But, Emma, if you could handle coffee, and if you don't mind the taste, you know my address.

Write to me, Emma. The right time is now.

And soon, spring will be here.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Thank you so much to those who reviewed the last chapter. I think I confused some readers in the last author's note, so I just want to clarify that I am definitely continuing this fic, but I will not have time to fill prompts. So not the other way around. Sorry about that! So to those who left prompts this week, I'm sorry, they are wonderful, but I don't have time to fill them, as I only have enough time to focus on this fic. To those who read and review, thank you very, very much! The next chapter should be out soon!

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><p>William Schuester<p>

274 East 57th Street,

Apartment 2

New York, NY 10017

January 1st, 2017

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><p>Happy New Year, Will.<p>

It's been almost three years since I received your last letter. You asked for me to make a decision. I couldn't choose. So here, on my very best stationery, is my heartfelt explanation: _I'm so sorry._

I realise that you are probably wondering why I have decided to write all these years later when you told me not to unless I came to you. I respect you so much, too much to tell you something silly like I have now, three years later, made a decision and by writing to you, this means I am coming to New York. I'm not. You were right all those years ago. You were never just a faraway option. I didn't want to keep you hanging, and although the dream seemed lovely, it wasn't realistic. As far as my husband knew, our life was perfectly fine. I couldn't just pack up and take his daughter away from him because an ex-lover begged for me. What if Carl had wanted sole custody of Lacey when I left him? Will, I couldn't bear to hardly see my daughter. But with your words, your harsh direction, you forced me to snap out of my haze, and I grew up, Will. Thank you.

I'm a single mother, living in Lima. I never thought my life would turn out this way. But I'm happy with Lacey- happier than I was when I was married. I'll be thirty-eight at the end of this year. I still feel so young, but when I look at my daughter, I know that time is more precious than any other gift. And life shouldn't be wasted on empty attempts at happiness.

I asked Carl for a divorce two years and seven months ago, and he has moved to Cape Cod to live in his father's home. He has set up a practice there, as well as a new life. He has a new girlfriend, and I know they are engaged. I guess one of the main purposes of this letter was to tell you that. I know how you felt about Carl, and I want your respect. I didn't let him cheat me, Will. I didn't let him cheat his daughter with lies that covered up his affair. I protected my heart. So, I don't want you to think of me as somebody who would chose a man like Carl over a man like you. You are ten times the man he turned out to be, whether I drove him to be that person or not. In telling you that I am now divorced, you need to know that I'm not choosing Carl over you now, and I wasn't when I received your letter three years ago. It's over with Carl, and it has been for a long time.

Lacey was four last September. Oh, Will! She's very smart, _incredibly_ smart, and she's a year above her grade level, so I started her in school early. She started school this year, which was an absolute disaster. I suppose it was my fault, allowing her to become too attached to me. I never did go back to work at McKinley, so I was with her all day and night. This year, I have finally opened my eyes and realised that Lacey has severe attachment issues. Finally, after three months, she has adjusted to being around other children. She still dreads change, though. I imagine it would be so hard to try to settle her into a new school if we moved. I wouldn't dream of doing that to her.

Lacey doesn't really remember Carl, which bothers me quite a bit. Yes, and no, I suppose. She sees photos, and when he visits, she knows he is her dad. But sometimes she'll say things about 'daddy' and I have to say, 'no sweetheart, he doesn't do that', and she looks so lost, because in the fantasy she has created of another man, he does. This makes me terribly upset, and as a counsellor, I do over think it. But I know where it stems from, the characters she makes up in her imagination to fill the void of a missing parent. I try my best to be so attentive with her, but it's exhausting. I just wish someone were here to help me...with so many things.

You gave me an ultimatum in your last letter, almost three years ago. You said it was Carl or you, and I had to choose. To never speak to you again? It doesn't work that way, Will. I couldn't just not write, and you can't be cruel enough to not let me have my goodbye. I told myself I would give you three years, and then I would say goodbye.

I didn't know if I could go to New York, and because I was undecided, I didn't write to tell you that you were doing the wrong thing, and that I still needed to say goodbye. I wanted to divorce Carl immediately, and go to you, but the separation and divorce process, as well as custody battles, would have taken years. From the tone of your letter, you didn't have years. And in that time, I wasn't prepared to risk losing my daughter.

I understand why you had to say goodbye so suddenly. But I did too. I wanted to. But more than that, I didn't want my worst nightmare to become a reality for you. I knew if I wrote a goodbye, you would find an envelope with my name under the return address in your mailbox. You would have thought it was my answer, that I was coming to be with you. As your lover. As your wife. I had no idea what kind of relationship you were so desperate for. I didn't want for you to be hopeful that it was the reply you had been waiting for and it only to end up being a goodbye. So, I let you move on with your life as you so desperately needed to. Please acknowledge that.

I waited three years to write again, and hopefully, you have now moved on. You gave me two choices, and I didn't take either. I made my own path, and I'm better because of it.

It's been so long, and I guess things have changed. I know all about your fabulous career from the internet, and I've read all of the reviews. Congratulations, and I am so, so proud. I adore you for every single effort you have made to find happiness and, I hope, peace.

I have written this letter as your friend. I am not teasing you, nor am I encouraging you. I just want you to know that it wasn't easy for me to say goodbye. I'm proud of you. For letting go of everything. Especially me.

I hope this letter reaches you, and that you are still in the same apartment. If not, I guess I'll never find you.

I don't expect you to write back. I don't even think I want you to write back. I didn't write when you asked me to, and I said goodbye that way. But it wasn't enough, and it certainly wasn't fair to either of us.

As time has passed, I've realised this is my last and real goodbye to you. I know how much you loved me, and I couldn't have you always wondering why I didn't choose you. I did choose you. Every day I think about you and I yearn for you. And for that reason alone, I could never be with another man.

But I have a daughter, and she's so susceptible to change that I couldn't remove her from her comfort zone. My faith in trust has altered dramatically, and I'd rather just be safe and happy here in Lima. Even if that does mean being lonely. I'm tired of hurting, Will. I'm tired of taking risks. You may think that is sad, especially if you have found someone, but I very much like my life the way it is. If you haven't found someone yet, I hope this goodbye betters your attempt.

I love you. I always have. But Will, I have to be the bigger person. Just like you were three years ago.

_Goodbye._


	8. Chapter 8

AN: This is the last letter. The next chapter will be the beginning of the fic, as the interlude that I mentioned in the earlier chapters will be skipped so that we can get to the juicy stuff. I hope you have enjoyed the series of letters, and thank you very much for reviewing!

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><p><em>Mrs Emma Pillsbury-Howell<em>

_PO BOX 92_

_Lima, Ohio_

* * *

><p><em>January 7th, 2017<em>

* * *

><p>Emma,<p>

I am glad that you felt better after writing your letter. I felt better after reading it.

I take it that you didn't receive the letter that I sent to you fourteen months ago? You never replied, so I assumed that you didn't appreciate what I had to say. But now I know that you never actually received this missing letter, as your last letter read that you waited three years to write since you received my farewell letter. There was another letter, Emma. Perhaps it was the most important. But you never received it. It would have arrived at a dark time for you, in the midst of your divorce, I assume, so I am partly glad you never read it. Fate obviously laid a hand the day I posted it, because it was really never meant to be read by you. It was selfish and wrong and indescribably stupid. Now I can live with a lighter conscience knowing it never got to you.

Three years ago, I made a mistake by telling you to never write again. I was just so angry, Emma. I was frustrated and lonely and I didn't know where I belonged in the world. I do now. Finally, I can honestly say that there is stability in my life. Still, sometimes I wish you were with me. However, I don't think about you as often as I did. Maybe if our letters are sparse, our hearts will be happier.

I have moved on, and I hope that knowledge happily entertains you for the rest of your life. I have a new place. It's just two blocks away from Central Park, which you have probably guessed from the return address on the envelope. It's the best apartment I've had since I've moved to New York, and although it's slightly out of my price range, I feel like I've earned this little luxury. I wouldn't have received your letter, but as luck would have it, Rachel now lives in my old apartment, so she passed the letter on to me. I was surprised that there weren't photos of Lacey inside the envelope. I would love to see how grown up she is.

I'm sorry to hear about your divorce, but I am mostly so saddened to hear that Carl rarely sees his daughter. Poor Lacey. Poor you. Your daughter seems fantastic, like a light in your life that burns constantly. I don't think you could ask for more, Em. But Lacey, she deserves more. She deserves a father who loves her and wants to know her. Maybe when she is older, he'll have more interest in her. I know that is a horrible thing to say. But maybe horror is where the truth lies, waiting to creep up on us when our nerves are humming and we are too fragile to know any better.

I can only imagine how hard it must be to be a single parent. As wonderful as she sounds, I can only imagine that, at times, Lacey can be overwhelming. I hope you get a break at sometime during the day. I hope you can curl up on the couch with a good book. But I hope you aren't lonely when she's asleep. That's why I like New York. There's always someone awake somewhere. There's always noise and lights to talk to me when I'm lying awake thinking of what could have been.

It worries me that you say you'll never be with another person, to share your love with them the way you shared yourself with Carl and I. There are such wonderful people out there, surely better than Carl and I, and it's a terrible thought that you would turn away from someone who is actually worthy of your love. It's a shame that you can't trust the world enough to ever find that pleasure again.

However, as I write that, I can't handle the thought of you being with anyone else. I don't intend to sound possessive. It's just that, sometimes, I wondered if Carl knew what you were like in bed; what you were really like. You were an incredible lover. I wasn't expecting you to be so loving that night, and I say that with the greatest respect for you. I've never fit with anyone the way I fit with you, in every way. Years ago, I would have written that confession with anger. Now, I am fuelled with peace. And a little bit of longing.

You made the right decision in never making a choice. I only hope one day you confess to your daughter what you gave up for her. Tell her you gave up the greatest love of your life, so that she could have you as the best mother you could be. If she's angry with you for giving that love up, when it all could have worked out in the end, send her to me. I'll sit down with her over coffee and tell her how I was angry, too. Then I'll tell her that she's remarkable, just like her mother. And I'll tell her that one day, when she's asked to make a life-altering decision, the odds belong to her, and only her.

Maybe one day our paths will meet and we shall be able to smile without regret.

Good luck, Emma.

Love always,

The one who was always supposed to be yours.


	9. Part Two 1

AN: Hi everyone! Sorry this has taken so long to get out. I hope you enjoy the first chapter. The next few chapters will be longer, as this is simply an introduction to part two. Thanks for reading and reviewing! Hopefully the next chapter will be coming soon!

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><p>There was too much light. There was always too much light. At night he could deal with the bright lights shining from the monstrous buildings and gleaming heavenly through his bedroom windows as he sought the pleasure of sleep. Those late, luminous artificial lights were a comfort, a sweet reminder that he had made it to New York, and somewhere, everywhere, someone was awake, in an office, a theatre, a bar. But the morning light, the natural, blinding sunlight, scared Will. Once more, he would wake to greet another regret.<p>

She had mumbled in her sleep all night, a tortured soul as emotionally bruised and battered as Will. But she was young-too young- and fuelled by intense hope. Naive. Smart and pretty and so competent. But she'd just arrived from Texas the week before, and she had no idea what New York held for her.

Will rolled over on the edge of the mattress, the satin sheets gently caressing his bare skin. He turned his head to take her in. Blonde hair madly tousled; his lustful frustration. The sheet gathered between her naked thighs as she lay so far from Will; his bored neglect. A purple mark on her neck from when his pursed lips had summoned blood to the surface; his possessive dream of another woman.

Her naked body laid spread upon his king size mattress, her lithe, seductive form centred on the bed and banishing her one night stand to the very border of his own bed. She was a stomach sleeper, and obviously enjoyed her space. No wonder she moved to New York. The busiest city in the world that offered loneliness on a silver platter upon arrival.

She was so beautiful. Just like the other women who stayed until morning; they were all beautiful until he shocked them with rudeness they would never had imagined Will to possess the night before. He was just an aspect of New York that would help them to grow; he'd help to show them that romance wouldn't belong to them there, that they could dance with him on stage and be romanced in eight productions a week. But behind closed doors, there was only the offer of reckless release. There was fact and there was fiction. He was happy to show them the difference.

Will watched Lila more closely, and realised he didn't have an excuse. She was the stage manager. She knew the difference between reality and performance, pessimism and optimism. What had he done?

"Lila?"

She huffed a reply in her sleep, a tired moan of recognition. Will rolled over to face the window again, too exhausted to deal with the expression of sadness that would inevitably grace her youthful features within moments.

"I think you should go now," Will whispered, squinting as the sunlight streamed increasingly brightly through his naked window.

He listened to the shuffling as she pried her clothes from beneath his. He heard her curse when she stubbed her toe on the edge of his bed. But what was louder than all of her restless, shameful sputtering, was the click of his bedroom door as it closed behind her.

Silence.

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><p>"I like buses, Mommy," Lacey yawned. "Maybe when I'm older I can be a bus driver, just like Bobby my bus driver. I can drive yellow school buses, or the white buses, or even a big bus like this one..."<p>

"I think you could definitely do that, Lace."

"Me too." Emma's long, delicate fingers grasped Lacey's tiny ones on her hand. "Why have I never been on a bus like this one before?"Lacey wondered aloud.

The sun was rising over the hill, its bright light blinding Emma and causing little Lacey to squint in tiredness. In just eight more hours, they would arrive in New York, and the sun would filter through the high rises of Manhattan to leave them with a gloomy atmosphere. No sun in New York City. Just darkness, and dreams that shone too brightly. It was another reason why she wanted Lacey to grow up in Lima. Children needed fresh air and sunshine. Emma peered down at her daughter, so fragile and pretty and unscarred by the world .There was no need to worry, though. Lacey _would_ grow up in Lima. _You'll go to Manhattan and stay there until this all blows over._

Lacey propped her elbow up on the rim of the bus window, and looked out at the road ahead. Emma watched her daughter, the way Lacey blinked with exhausted wonder. Lacey's dark hair was tied in pig tails, the two silky ends falling past the tops of Lacey's slumped shoulders as they curled. Her dark features were only enhanced by Lacey's skin, almost too pale. And when Lacey was tired, she appeared ill, like she had been kept inside and out of healthy sunlight for too long. Emma wished Lacey would fall asleep for the rest of the bus ride, and when she'd wake, she'd never know just how far her mother had taken her from home.

Emma checked her bus ticket. Again. They were scheduled to arrive at 4:23 pm. Emma looked over the ticket more closely.

_Ms L Thatcher _

_1 adult & 1 child (under 5)_

_Departure: Lima Bus Terminal C - January 14__th__ 4:15 am_

_Arrival: Port Authority Bus Terminal New York City - January 14th 4:23 pm _

He'd have little to no chance of finding them now.

"Mommy, do you think there are buses where daddy lives near the beach?"

Emma sighed, and tilted her head to look at Lacey, whose soft, innocent grin made Emma's heart swell.

Soon, it would all blow over.

* * *

><p>Emma looked up at the number of the apartment, her palm sweating in Lacey's. One hundred and eighty-two. Apartment number eight. Oh God. Could she really do this?<p>

"Mommy, I'm really hungry. And it's really cold."

Emma swallowed harshly. If she pressed that tiny buzzer, she'd hear his voice for the first time in almost five years. He'd come outside, gather her in his arms. He'd be so happy to meet Lacey, so proud that she'd left her life for New York. Yes, he'd be angry that she hadn't chosen to leave all those years ago when he gave her the ultimatum. His last letter had said that he had done the wrong thing. He knew her circumstances, the way things were with Lacey and Carl. But now, she'd leave him to believe she was his. She would be. Finally, she could get what she wanted, and Will would find peace with her. If he still wanted her. Why she left Lima, the prompt, she'd never tell Will. It would break him. No, when Emma met him, he'd believe that she had come for him; to be with him forever. All Will would know was that she had come for him. And that was the only reason he would know.

"Mommy, do you have a juice box in your bag?"

What if he was married? What if he had kids? He hadn't said anything about himself in the last letter. This was a risk she was taking. But this was her only choice; her last resort. Emma felt faint. The thick scarf around her neck felt like it was choking her. She couldn't breathe. What if he turned them away and they'd have to return to Lima. What on Earth would she do then?

"I...umm...how about we go for a walk?" Emma whispered, her grasp on Lacey's hand tightening. She crouched down to pull the beanie lower over her daughter's ears, and brushed the pads of her thumbs across Lacey's cold, red cheeks.

"Mommy, we already walked so far," Lacey whined.

"But this is an adventure," Emma gasped with feigned delight, attempting to hold the suitcase from falling over onto its side and into the snow. She didn't need to deal with a wet suitcase on top of everything. "We have so many wonderful things to see!"

Lacey sighed dramatically, her tired eyes blinking with exhaustion. "And we can stop and find something to eat on the way, okay?"

It was getting dark quickly. Well after 5pm, they found a tiny salad bar that Emma deemed sanitary enough, and Emma watched Lacey eat a sandwich. Lacey muttered on and on about the little boy who had sat behind them on the bus, how boys were silly, and wondered why the old lady in front of them had been so mean.

Emma felt sick. There was no way she could eat. Stepping into the restaurant bathroom, Emma glared at her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing a beret, so although it was windy outside, her long hair hadn't been too messed up. She looked okay, as best as she could. Besides, Will wasn't really one for appearances. Would he recognise the changes in her? Her hair was so long, falling past her breasts. She looked older, more like a tired mother who only had time for her child. But what would Will think? Would he still be attracted to her? Probably not. Yes. Maybe.

There was the smidgen of hope that Emma held onto. He had provided it in the 'missing' letter she had never responded to. Placed in her handbag, the letter was old, crumpled from the amount of times she had reread his explicit words. He wanted her. Back then, a whole year ago, he had wanted her _so_ badly.

She couldn't go into this half-heartedly. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror in that tiny dinner, only partially listening as Lacey chattered about Talia Monroe's new baby brother from the stall behind her, Emma decided that there was hope after all.

* * *

><p>"If he understudies for me tonight, I don't think it would be a problem," Will spoke tiredly, his grip on his cell phone relaxing. "I could use a break, and I know that Ryan could use the experience."<p>

The call was a blessing. He'd been so tired lately, worn out from doing eight shows a week. Will ended the call as the cab pulled up on the corner of his block. Paying the cab driver and telling him to keep the change, will stepped out and made his way up the sidewalk to his apartment.

The air was cold, windy and wild, and of all his years in New York, he'd never experienced such a dull, freezing winter. Each morning required more and more effort to just get out of bed and to face the snow, the rain, and grey skies. He was looking forward to change.

He raised his gaze from the footpath, and looked ahead to his apartment. Ten apartment blocks to go and he'd finally be able to take the lift up to the 'penthouse' of his small apartment block, remove his shoes, and sink into the week long coma that was long overdue.

Will squinted at the protruding steps of his apartment block that he could make out ahead. A figure sat on the steps. A woman, he could just make out in the growing darkness of the evening. Her coat was black, but she was wearing some kind of purple hat. Her hair was red.

His pace quickened, and his heart clenched just as tightly as it did each time he saw a woman with red hair. But, God...she was sitting on his steps. She had Emma's slender figure, the graceful aura Emma emitted. A coincidence?

Before the steps, a little girl stood, restlessly hopping from foot to foot as her high-pitched voice carried in the wind.

"How long now, Mommy? Can I press the buzzer again?" The little girl's coat was yellow, thick and almost too big for her tiny frame. Long, dark hair that looked like it hadn't been cut in all her young life was tied at the sides of her head. "I don't think your friend is coming home for dinner. Maybe he's having a sleepover at somebody's house?"

It was Emma. It was definitely Emma. And Lacey. Wasn't it? He recognised Lacey from the photograph on his fridge. This is what she would look like now. When dates and one-night stands would ask who the little girl was, he would call her his niece, and tell them all about Lacey, all that he was privileged to know. Sometimes, women claimed Lacey looked like her 'uncle'. Small talk, white lies to make conversation when Will had nothing to really say. Lacey looked like Carl. Nothing like Will. Watching Lacey jump around on the sidewalk only metres away, he prayed the little girl looked like Emma even just the slightest bit. Just seeing the little girl so closely for the first time in his life shattered his heart- he'd give everything to someone who was a part of Emma.

His head hurt. He slowed his pace.

There was a suitcase.

He watched them.

Emma smiled widely at her daughter, and shook her head, clearly amused by something Lacey had said. And then she looked around.

Her eyes fell upon Will.

Looking to the source of her mother's distraction, Lacey stared up at Will curiously, and smiled brightly. "Hi," she exclaimed, so innocent and unaware.

Will watched the blush rise to Emma's cheeks, admired the way she nervously brushed her long, curly red hair behind her shoulders.

Emma stared at Will, her eyes cast over with exhaustion, apology, and regret. There was so much to say. So much love. So much hate. The angst was arresting. Her expression was blank of relief or happiness. Will didn't feel warm or joyous, either. But he certainly couldn't suffocate the passion he felt for her as his gaze bore into hers for the briefest moment and watched her eyes slowly brightening with desperate emotion.

Will couldn't look at her.

Instead, he turned his gaze back to Lacey, who was staring at Will with wide brown eyes.

"Hi," Will breathed huskily.


	10. Part Two 2

_AN: I hope you are enjoying part two of this story. Thank you so much for the lovely compliments I received for the last chapter. Reviews are so lovely to receive when you spend so much time on a piece of writing. To know it is appreciated is why I write, and so I want to thank you for that. Have a lovely week! Also, to the reviewer who was in hospital, I hope you are getting better!_

* * *

><p><em>The Elevator <em>

* * *

><p>Emma's grip on Lacey's tiny hand was tight and trembling, but Lacey only looked up at her mother with a pure expression of trust and admiration, her eyes shining with fatigue.<p>

It was quietly awkward as the three of them stood in the elevator of Will's apartment block. Emma watched Will's back as he stood in front of them, his posture too straight as he held onto the handle of her suitcase and jabbed perhaps too slowly at the 8th floor button with his index finger.

The doors closed.

Emma felt Lacey's eyes watching her, and she tore her gaze from Will to look at Lacey as the elevator rose from the ground floor. There was no going back now. Emma faintly returned her daughter's smile, and Lacey, whose unconditional love never questioned her mother, knew to be quiet and not ask any questions.

Silence.

She could smell him. The leather of his brown jacket, his aftershave. She could see a slither of the skin of his neck between his scarf and the collar of his jacket. It looked so smooth. Remembering how it tasted on her tongue, Emma blinked twice. Would her feet ever touch the ground again?

He hadn't looked her in the eye yet. _God_. He was so handsome and sexy. And _dark_. Darker than Carl had ever been. She hadn't felt her chest tighten like it had outside his apartment block in so long. Her heart was pounding, and she hadn't released a breath in too long. Maybe she was just in shock. She had reason to be. With everything going through her mind lately, the stress had just piled on day after day. There had been no form of release for her.

Emma licked her dry lips, and gripped the handle of her handbag tighter. He had looked tired, but not like Emma. And she hadn't showered in close to twenty-four hours.

The warmth of Lacey's head pressed against Emma's arm. Emma slipped her hand from Lacey's and ran her fingers over the top of Lacey's hair, and the little girl sighed dramatically.

Will turned at the sound, and Emma's head shot up to look at him. But he looked down at Lacey, who looked up at him with wide, so-dark-they-were-almost-black eyes. Will smiled widely back at her.

The elevator stopped, and Will reached into his pocket. He pulled out a rectangular key card, and slipped it into a slot just below the row of numbers. The doors opened to the small foyer of the penthouse suite, and they were inside.

"Mommy, it looks just like the rich girl's house in that movie with the boy who looks like Josh from school!"

Emma watched as Will rolled the extra large suitcase from the elevator with more than a little effort. Oh god. Was she making a huge mistake?

Will turned just as Lacey let go of Emma's hand and quickly stepped into the room, her tiny gumboots squeaking on the tiled floor as she took in her surroundings with wide eyes. Lacey stepped further into the room and began to unbutton her coat, more than happy to do some exploring indoors.

"Lace-

"Welcome to New York, Miss Lacey," Will interrupted Emma. "I'm not sure if your Mom told you, but my name is Will." Emma stepped out of the elevator and gazed around the room. "And I think, judging by the size of your suitcase, you and your Mom are going to be staying with me for a little while."

Lacey turned. "Will, do you have a piece of paper?" The little girl stood taller, proud and so much bigger than she was.

Emma ceased looking around, and turned her gaze on her daughter, wishing that, of all things, Lacey hadn't asked for writing materials.

Will blushed. "I should be able to find some paper somewhere."

"I'm going to do you a favour," Lacey announced. Will raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. "I'm going to draw a picture of your house, and I'm going to sign it with my name."

* * *

><p><em>The Sofa<em>

* * *

><p>It's a dirty kind of pleasurable release that leaves you with nothing but guilt. It's like the relief of an itch, and before you know it, you've scratched too hard and you've torn at the scab. You knew it was going to happen, and then you're left with emptiness and self-loathing. You're waiting for the skin to grow back, and you can't help but to berate yourself for wasting all that time, for taking it away in a matter of moments. But still, it was release. Excruciating, thrilling release. There's an upside; eventually the skin does grow back. But it only grows to become another itch.<p>

And that is how it was for Emma when she was with Will. The skin had grown back, but now it was itching again. She couldn't stop thinking about it; how easy it would be to reach out and scratch it. But if they scratched the itch, she'd tear the skin and be left with guilt. And guilt was what Will felt when he was with Emma, because he knew it was an endless cycle, and he had to stop somewhere. He was getting dizzy; unfortunately, his wound was still healing.

Emma's memories of their night together were persistent, but they didn't absolutely haunt her. She had a daughter, her life was busy. She was always tired, always distracted. But Will was alone in a city of dreams, and his apartment was too, too large. He remembered it all so clearly. He could still feel the heat of her body enveloping him, the soft flesh of her behind in his palms, the way she had cried out in maddening frustration. The scent of her hair, the flick of her nipples across his chest. Her breaths. _Will, I...I love you._

"Really, you don't have to worry about extra pillows," Emma whispered. "She usually has hers at the other end of the bed each morning."

"I think an extra pillow can be comforting sometimes," Will muttered lowly before he stepped away down the hall in search of a fifth pillow for Lacey.

While Emma had showered and bathed Lacey earlier that evening, Will had set up a makeshift bed for Lacey in the living room of his grand apartment.

Emma looked around as she waited for Will to return with the extra pillow. She couldn't imagine what kind of financial strain such a luxurious apartment was putting on him. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a full kitchen, a laundry room, and some kind of smaller office she had discovered as she had trailed behind Lacey when Will gave the little girl a tour of his apartment earlier that evening. Emma had felt like the third wheel as Lacey ohh-ed and ahh-ed. In silent awe, Emma had waited and waited for Will to really gaze into her eyes. But he hadn't, and so Emma had stood by the large glass window in the living room for much of the night, glancing down at the street below, thinking about how perfect her life could have been if she had followed Will in the very beginning, before the letters. Before Lacey. She knew that he'd made it as a Broadway star, that he had one of the leading roles in a major Broadway production. But she'd never imagined _this_.

Emma stared down at a sleeping Lacey, the little girl's long blue-black hair splayed across a pillow, tiny crinkles in her hair from She looked so small on Will's oversized...sofa?

Emma stood and admired the giant piece of furniture. It was one of those modern lounges that seemed to be a bed, but was really only so large so that people could rest their feet out. It could probably fit the entire glee club if they all squeezed in. Surely this was just a piece of very extravagant decoration and not a real comfortable, useable couch. There was no TV in the rom. The room was basically bare but for the monstrous lounge her daughter was sleeping on. It was in the centre of the living room, the first thing guests would see through the foyer arch when the private elevator doors opened. The first thing other women would see. Did he entertain women on this couch? Or did he take them to his bedroom?

Oh god. Emma's heart beat faster. Where would she be sleeping?

When Will placed the extra pillow at the bottom of the sofa, Emma turned and looked at Will, waiting for direction or some sort of signal.

Her eyes were wide when he turned to look at her, and he knew what she was thinking. He had led her to believe she would sleep in his bed, however cruel that was. He hadn't told her that there was another room at the end of the hall, a room he had kept locked for too long. A room which could be hers. No, he had let her wait all night, to wonder what would happen. But she hadn;t really thought about it until now.

He could see the quiet excitement in her eyes as she stared at her sleeping daughter, the way her cheeks flushed a dusty pink as the low lighting of the room coloured her hair darker. Will opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.

Emma was beautiful, and he tried desperately to drag his gaze away from where her wrists bent as her palms pressed into her hips, the slither of skin just by her wrists he could see so clearly when she straightened her posture and her sweater rode up slightly. Womanly hips. Jeans. A slender waist. A cashmere sweater. The sweet swell of breasts he had only touched and licked and nibbled a thousand times on just one occasion.

She could feel his eyes on her body, and her heart raced at the thought. It was really happening. It was unbelievably quiet as they stood together. Quieter than at home in Lima when Lacey was asleep down the hall and Emma was alone in the master bedroom with a pile of letters that no longer meant anything. This was the same silence that had settled over them all those years ago, right before they had made reckless love on his living room floor, and then in his bed. What if they could get that back, though? This all seemed so familiar. She hadn't felt that warmth and fullness in so long. She knew how the pleasure Will offered made her ache throb deeper than any sensation she had ever known. Surely they could get that back...

Emma sighed softly and turned to look at Will. He dropped his gaze down to his watch and licked his lips.

"I'm going to set up the guest bedroom for you."

_Oh._

"Well, um, if that's the case, I can just lie with her. You really don't have to worry about setting up another bed."

He tried to raise his gaze to look at her, her stare confident as she waited for his response. His skin tingled as he tried to summon a comprehensive thought to mind. Memories of her pleasured cries rang in his ears.

She was smiling faintly, her eyes shining with so many questions. She was looking for something that he didn't know how to give her.

If she was really going to stay for good, what did this mean? Would he have a wife and a daughter by the end of the year? Would he finally get to hold Emma at night, in the morning, at midday? Would his heart beat against hers soon? Or would it always be like this? This strange, rudely powerful nagging in his mind that made his chest twinge in worry and resentment?

"Will, I want to tell you that-

"I'm going to make some coffee," Will announced softly, reaching for the living room light and dimming it completely so that the only light that leaked into the room was the yellow glow from the kitchen. "Would you like some?"

She hated coffee.

"Okay."

"You kept my picture."

Emma traced her finger around the line of the play rug in the photograph, careful not to pull it from the grip of the magnet holding it to Will's refrigerator.

"Of course."

There was the gentle slam of the cupboard as Will reached for two mugs, his back to Emma as it had been all evening. Only for a few moments had she seen the lines on his face, how young he still looked but how definitely he had aged. She needed more.

"I have a new one if you'd like to replace it."

"That one is just fine."

"It's old."

Silence.

Her voice was too much. Everything was too much. His lips tickled and his hands itched with the impulse to turn and grasp her waist, graze her lips with his and taste her mouth with devilish hunger. He wanted to make her moan and whimper _so badly_. But his heart sung with a sadness that wanted an apology and promise from her more than anything else.

She wanted to give him everything, forget the plan just for this first night. Tomorrow she'd do the right thing. _But one night._ To just be held in his arms, to feel as though nothing could hurt her. But there would be no point if she jumped into bed with him on her first night in his city. Pushing that thought away was so incredibly difficult when he looked like that and she hadn't been touched in so long.

The impulse was made increasingly easier to ignore second by second. He wasn't making any moves or indication that he wanted her in his bed.

She watched him move, the strength of his upper body, the broad shoulders and narrow hips that made him so attractive. He looked tense.

Emma gripped the edge of the counter, and then realised it was too high to be comfortable to bend her elbows that way. She wrapped her arms around herself, but when Will turned slightly, she didn't want to ruin the opportunity by seeming defensive. She didn't know what to do with her hands.

He offered her a steaming mug of instant coffee, and although the rich smell made her nostrils flare, she was grateful as she reached out for the handle pointed in her direction. Their fingertips almost brushed in the exchange. But they didn't. _Great, he'd rather grasp a scorching mug full of boiling liquid in his palm and risk second degree burns than touch you._

Emma followed Will down the dim hall in complete silence.

He led her into the guest bedroom, which had a queen bed in the centre of the room, occupying most of the space. But the most magnificent feature of the room was the enormous window that looked out to Central Park. The view was slightly obstructed by a taller building on the next block, and Emma couldn't see very well out to the darkness, but the streetlamps lit the edges of the park enough for her to recognise where she was in the world.

Will drew the blinds open. "I call this the sunny room," he started as Emma stood back from the vertigo-inducing window and took a seat in one of the two cushioned chairs. "Each morning the sunlight is just so overwhelming that you'll really need to pull the shutters before you go to sleep." Emma nodded as she listened to the first thing he'd really said to her all night. "This room's never really been used," he continued. "I don't know why I got such a big apartment." Emma swallowed. "I guess I was thinking of turning this room into a tiny studio or something."

He took a seat on the single chair facing Emma, and fixed his gaze on the open window across the street.

"Lacey's a beautiful little girl," he complimented. "She's really grown up."

"So I take it you never remarried?" Emma observed.

"No."

She ran her index finger around the rim of her mug. "That's a shame. Any woman would have been lucky to have you."

He sat forward, balancing his elbows on his knees as he took a sip of his beloved coffee. "Well, if it seems such a shame that I never married another woman, why are you here?"

He sat back in the chair, his expression graced with such pleasure and relief that he had finally asked her that menacing question.

Emma paused, and drew a staggering breath. He raised his gaze, and finally, completely, _really_ looked at her.

"I'm very confused," Emma confessed.

And she was. But not for the reason that Will thought and prayed and would happily die for. She had no idea what she was doing running away to New York. All that Emma knew was exactly what she wanted from Will, and how to get it.

Will looked at her with pity, and she bit her lip. Okay, he thought, considering her exhausted features and expression of dread. She's a single mother, in a strange city, with her own issues. Just wait and see where this goes. You've waited for five years; you can wait a little longer.

"I fell out of love with my husband."

"I already know that." An ambulance howled below. "I knew that a long time ago." Quiet tranquillity for eighteen seconds. "You divorced him."

"He divorced me."

"Does he see Lacey?"

Her face expressed sheer panic for a moment, and she masked truth with detachment too quickly. "No." Will's oblivious, sympathetic stare was pitying, and Emma took the chance to be real for the first time in a long time. "You know that from my letters. Let's not pretend we never wrote and said the things we did."

He nodded slowly. "Right." He released a staggering breath. "I didn't think you'd ever come to New York."

"Neither did I." A long moment fluttered by, and Emma thought of all those times she'd cried herself to sleep, the mornings she'd held Lacey in her arms for too long at the school gate, the attachment issues she had with her daughter. "I...um...I wanted to." She remembered beginning letters to Will as the sun rose, and finishing them as twilight set in. "I really wanted to."

He stared at her, vibrant and poignant, and Emma's eyes stung with unshed tears. "I thought we had closure," Will whispered.

She looks down into her tea, her torso tense and her fingers trembling. "Me too."

He noticed the lingering grin that slowly spread across her lips, bringing a blush to her cheeks. She didn't raise her gaze.

"God, my heart is racing so fast," he chuckled.

The grin evaporated, and Emma quickly looked up at Will. "I'm sorry."

He set his mug on the windowsill. "No," he reached forward and grasped her fingers in his, "don't be." She yielded slightly at the contact. He only held on firmer.

He was studying her. She could feel his eyes on her lips, on her nose, on her forehead. _Oh god._ He was actually looking at her like she was precious, just as he had all those years ago when she was just the guidance counsellor and he was a married man. There was that tension she had never known as real. But it was there now, choking them with gentle hands. Passion that could be taken to greater heights...

"You haven't changed, Em," Will whispered. "It's taken me all night to summon the nerve to really look at you. But you haven't changed a bit." She raised her gaze and looked into his eyes, watching the hazel flicker with aqua specs. But Will's eyes were travelling over her face, staring, in a completely different world, so mesmerised by...what was he mesmerised by?

"Your hair is longer." He reached out and his fingertips played with a lock of her hair. Emma closed her eyes, and struggled to contain a whimper of liberation. She could faintly feel the warmth of his breath on her chin. His smell. Too much, too fast. And it was too good to stop. He'd barely touched her, yet she could feel that familiar and previously forgotten tingle in her lower spine that felt so...exhilarating.

He raised his gaze to meet hers, but her eyes had slipped shut. Was she afraid of him? Didn't she want this? She looked so uncomfortable, so small and untrusting.

He pulled back, and Emma's eyelids fluttered, awakening.

Will stood. "I don't want to say anything I'll regret, Em, so I think I'll leave you to get a good night's rest after your flight."

"Umm...we actually caught the bus here."

"Oh." Was she under financial strain? Had a failed married left her without any security?

He grasped the handle of the door, and began to pull it behind him.

"Will?" she had moved to stand by the bed, her dainty hand grasping the end bedpost for balance.

"Yes."

"I don't know why I'm here." He watched her closely, the way her eyes flickered with pureness and goodness. "I just...I haven't felt safe in a long time."

He swallowed. She was so devastatingly beautiful. How he wanted to keep her safe. He'd imagined this day so many times, how he'd take her to his bed and hold her. But things were different. The tension was such a large character- more flamboyant a character than he'd ever portrayed on Broadway.

"I'm sorry that I'm here now when you asked me not to come to you all those years ago. But I..." she released a sob, "I couldn't stop thinking about you." Will swallowed as she held a shaky hand to her chest. "About how protected you made me feel."

Her eyes, wide and terrified looked to him for comfort as she sat on the bed, her body frail and begging to just be energised.

She ran her hand to the top button of her sweater, and stared at Will. She bit her lip. He watched her finger.

With his back pressed against the wall, it was tempting. He could take six long steps and take her on the bed. He'd waited so long.

His fingertips stung. Somehow, it didn't seem right or wanted. Emma looked tired, exhausted. But her eyes, _god_. She was asking something of him. Sex. Plain, reckless sex.

"I think you're tired, and you need a good night's rest..."he said, his tone low and husky.

"I'm okay."

"Clearly, you're not. Look, Lacey's just outside, I'm across the hall, and this building has great security."

Emma dropped her hand to her lap, and bowed her head. What had she been thinking insinuating...that?

"I'm not looking for that kind of security."

Will could hear his cell phone vibrating on the kitchen bench, an incoming call he needed to answer.

"Would it be okay if we could talk in the morning?" He began to pull the door behind him.

"Sure," she waved her hand in the air, her face flushed with embarrassment. "If that's what you want." The implication was clear.

"Yeah. That's what I want."

* * *

><p><em>New York, New York<em>

* * *

><p>"Could I get a muffin instead?"<p>

"Sure." Will placed his orange pencil down on the counter in the pile of other pencils, and reached for the green pencil. "What kind of muffins do you like?"

Together, Lacey and Will coloured within the lines of the image in her colouring book. She was a bright child, just as Emma had written, and her artistic interest was well above grade level. Will was certain that if it weren't for wanting to frame Lacey's drawing of his apartment, he could easily sell it to some New York artist as an abstract work. But it looked better on his fridge where it had been since last night.

"Banana." He'd expected Lacey to be shy, withdrawn and quiet. But she was an outgoing child, easily trusting, and incredibly talkative. "Mommy says I'm an extra special kind of kid because other kids like chocolate muffins. Do you have kids, Will?"

"No, I haven't." He looked to his refrigerator, the image of baby Lacey in Emma's hold. "Have you ever tried a chocolate banana muffin? Those are pretty nice, too."

"Hi."

Will turned to see Emma standing at the end of the hall, her face fresh and her eyes shining with happiness. Her dark jeans were tight and tucked into her boots that tapped their way across the tiled kitchen floor.

"Hi mommy," Lacey called as she continued to colour, her pink tongue poking out between her lips as she focused with renewed concentration.

"Lacey was just saying that she would like to go down to the bakery and get some breakfast."

Emma smiled and shook her head slightly in confusion. "Oh, you don't have breakfast here?"

"Not really." Will grinned and Emma captured her bottom lip between her teeth. "Would you like to come with us?"

Lacey looked up at her mother with hopeful eyes.

"Well if she wants to go of course I will. I can't send her on her own."

"She'd be with me."

Emma was quiet, realising what she had said. Pain darkened Will's features for a moment, but then he turned to Lacey, and helped her with her thick, little coat.

The bakery was small and crowded, but the aroma of fresh bread and pastries made Emma's heart soar. She hadn't imagined that her senses would be so heightened when she came to New York. She had to stop and ask herself- was she coming out of a long, unknown depression?

"Woah, you don't want to be carrying that much cash around New York every day."

Emma looked down at her opened purse, the dozens of hundred dollar bills she had removed from her bank account just days before. Emma looked up at Will, whose cheeks were tinged pink from the warmth of the shop, a shock of temperature change from the icy wind of outside. His expression was unreadable as he looked down at her purse, but the lines of his forehead were creased hinting at the concern he held for her. "I can get it, Emma."

"No, no. I'll get it."

They took a walk in Central Park while they ate their muffins and pastries, and Lacey walked on ahead, calling out to Emma about the flowers and trees and park benches that reminded her of home. Each time Lacey remarked, Emma felt a clawing at her skin, a nagging threat that Lacey would never forget Lima. Just like she'd never forgotten her father. Would Lacey soon begin to make up false stories about Lima? Would Emma be forced to tell her daughter she was wrong once again? Would Lacey ever have stability? Emma prayed that she'd find them a home.

Maybe New York wasn't such a bad place to raise kids. She'd had her heart set on raising Lacey in Lima, but she hadn't realised going back to Lima wasn't an option until they'd been over the Ohio border. Her mind had been a blur of scenarios, but now Emma was finally coming to terms with her only option: New York. And if she stayed with Will, as she'd partly come to New York to do, she couldn't ever ask him to move from New York. New York was her future, the only one she could dream of. She'd never be able to return to Lima again. That knowledge she would forever keep a secret.

"I've never been anywhere like New York."

"No? It's great here; I loved it from the second I arrived." He faltered in his step, moving closer to Emma as he made way for an elderly couple passing by them on the narrow path. "Lacey's attachment issues seem to be handled well now."

"They aren't." Her answer was quick, defiant of Will's belief. "Some days are great. Some days are not so great." Will stopped in his tracks, but Emma didn't notice.

"Look, Em, I'm sorry, but I'm a little bit confused." Emma turned abruptly, flicking her gaze to Lacey for a moment to make sure the little girl hadn't run off too far, and then focus her wide-eyed stare on Will.

"What, Will?"

"Em, you didn't come running back into my arms last night." Emma swallowed, and her grip on her bagel tightened so much that the bread lost its fluffiness. "And I realise you wouldn't have because it was new and surprising for the both of us and I have to admit I was a little bit uncomfortable last night. But you've been quiet today, and you haven't touched me or made any kind of indication that you want something more." He drew a deep breath, the cold air spreading into his lungs to burn happily. "So I'm just wondering where we stand."

Emma took a seat on a bench close by, and Will sat next to her, perhaps too closely.

"Well you always wanted me to come to New York to visit. So here I am."

"No...I always wanted you to come to be with me in New York." He remembered her large suitcase, filled with heavy promises. "I take it that if this is just a visit then you'll be leaving soon?"

Emma looked over at Lacey, who was crouching down beside the snow, the sleeves of her thick snow jacket preventing the little girl from reaching between the bars of a low fence to touch a squirrel. Emma could hear Lacey's giggles from the bench across the walkway.

"I'm not sure yet. I have to think about what's best for my daughter."

Will nodded. A moment passed, and Emma told Lacey not to touch the squirrels, that they were dirty and carried diseases. Lacey wondered aloud why the other children were feeding them when Lacey couldn't touch them, but then went back to creating shapes with her tiny footprints in the little snow that had fallen the night before.

"I think I was in shock last night when you arrived. I honestly had no idea how to react."

Emma looked up at Will, her chest pounding beneath her thick jacket. "You seemed...angry."

"I wasn't angry." He shook his head. "I just...I didn't know how to be around you and not...I don't know. I just didn't know how to restrain myself when I first saw you." She watched him lick his lips in the coldness. She could make them warm again..."I didn't know what you wanted, and I was waiting for you to make the first move." Her fingers twitched in her gloves, wanting to make him as happy as he'd been that night they were together. "But something just didn't seem right."

He looked at her carefully, examining her relaxed expression. Emma smiled. Will grinned.

"Can't my being here just be enough for now?" she wondered.

"Yes." He held his face high, and breathed in the fresh air. "It can."

"Good." She sat back on the seat, and allowed the muscles in her body to unwind as best they could in the freezing atmosphere.

"Good."His gloved fingers flexed on the edge of the bench. "I really missed you."

She blushed, and discovered that she needed to say something, because it was unfair to let him do all of the talking when she was the one who had shaken everything up. "I realise that my being here has changed things for you." He turned his gaze on Lacey, who was talking to herself as she sketched lines in the shallow snow, the tip of her gumboots smothered with white ice. "I don't want to lead you on, Will. But I'm not looking for a relationship right now. And I don't want you to put your life on hold just because I am here."Emma pulled her beret tighter around her ears, and watched as people of all shapes and sizes walked past them on their way to so many different places, all possessive of different stories. "I just needed to see you, to clear my head."

He rested his warm fingers across hers, and although the cotton and leather of their gloves separated their skin from coming into contact, Emma knew it was only a matter of time. "I understand that completely. Thank you for being honest with me." She watched his eyes, the intensity that they tempted. "Em, you can stay as long as you like."

"Thank you."

Lacey called out to Emma, and Will slipped his hand from hers.

"I think it will be good for both of us," Will murmured. "I feel different with you being here."

"Really?" she knew what he was talking about. She felt happier too, like her partner had returned to help her figure it all out.

"Yeah. I don't feel as weighed down." He shrugged his shoulders and Emma giggled softly. "I know things have changed and this isn't the romantic reunion that we both wrote about. But, Emma, you don't have to feel guilty." She smiled bashfully and felt one of the small, contributing weights lift from her chest. "But can I ask one thing?"

"Yes." She nodded with a calm smile.

"I know what you were implying last night before I left your room."Her gaze immediately fell to her lap, and she felt unbalanced in her humiliation. "Until you decide if you'll stay for good, and you know what that means, let's not get into anything that's more than friendship, okay?" Emma swallowed and nodded, feeling her face flush. "I don't want new memories."

She huskily breathed a 'yes'. Those were her intentions exactly. But soon, if she were incredibly lucky, she'd be able to tell him that she was still in love with him.

"Mommy, the squirrels are shivering in the snow!" Lacey called out.

All she'd have to do was wait out the storm. If Carl couldn't find Emma and Lacey in five months, she'd be free. That was usually the time frame for missing person cases to be forgotten. Around June, she'd confess to Will that she was still in love with him, and finally she'd have the life she really craved. Maybe she'd marry Will, have another baby. They'd be a family. But if she told Will about her feelings for him any sooner, and then Carl found out where she was, she'd be forced to move away, closer to her daughter and ex-husband who lived miles away on the coast. If that happened, she'd break Will's heart by leaving. And she couldn't ask Will to move with her, to leave New York because of a custody case her ex-husband had filed. She'd protect Will in the meantime, never leading him on. Emma would use him only for a place to stay hidden, to help Will heal. They'd be friends. Just friends. All she'd have to do was suffocate her lust for five months.

And she was doing it all to keep her daughter.


	11. Part Two 3

AN: Thank you for your lovely reviews for the last chapter. It's really nice to know that people are enjoying this story. Also, to answer a question in one of the reviews, Part Two will not have eight chapters as Part One did. There will be over eight chapters, because there is too much to tell and I don't like to wait too long between chapters to post if I can help it. I hope you like this chapter!

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><p><em>The Theater<em>

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><p>On Thursday night, Emma sat in awe in Row K of the Gershwin Theatre amongst a crowd of tourists and theater goers, with Lacey at her side, who stared at the extravagance on the stage in wonder.<p>

Will's role as a 'bad boy' turned gentlemen was strong and attractive and so endearing. The show was basically a contemporary _My Fair Lady_, with the gender roles reversed, and it was funny and heart-warming and so, so _Will. _His voice echoed throughout the theater, and Emma only wished that she had purchased tickets earlier to have reserved front row tickets. Watching from Row K wasn't close enough to the mind-blowing monster of a performance that Will gave the audience. But it was Emma who he would go home with. That had to mean something.

Lacey was glassy eyed during intermission, and when Emma led her daughter to the stage door after the performance, Lacey didn't draw breath as she chatted about Will, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed from the bitter wind. When Will stepped outside, after signing autographs, he scooped Lacey up and thanked her for coming to see him, and Emma's daughter was suddenly shy until they were home.

"I think my daughter has a crush on you..." Emma murmured as she stood in the kitchen with Will later that night, filling pastries with apple sauce as he watched her.

It was late, well after midnight. But Will didn't perform on Fridays until the eight pm show, and Emma didn't have anywhere to be in the morning. He was still running on the adrenaline of having performed just hours before, and Emma was high on the thrill of having witnessed the sexuality Mr Schuester had embodied on stage.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about that," he chuckled with a blush, leaning back against the opposite counter. They were always easier around each other at night when they were alone, and showering an observant Lacey with attention wasn't an issue. She was asleep, and they were free to just be themselves.

"I really liked the show, Will." Emma bit her lip in concentration for a moment while she filled the last pastry. Her body bent over the counter, her behind pressed out towards Will. He was glad she had decided to give up skirts. He would miss them. Welcoming a jean-clad Emma into reality and burying thoughts of skirts was like farewelling an ex-girlfriend. _I'm not sorry we were lovers, but I'm not sorry it's over. _He brought the coffee mug in his hand to his lips, and allowed his eyes three more seconds to linger on the curve he knew was hot.

She straightened her back, finished with the last pastry. He forced his gaze away.

"You were so, so wonderful," Emma smiled as she quickly threw a look of generous praise over her right shoulder. "I'm very proud of you."

Will tried not to gush as he held the fridge door open for Emma, and she slid the tray onto the empty second shelf. He hadn't ever had breakfast at home in New York. Having Emma around made everything easier...and less _New York_. Did he want that?

"Really, Will." She pursed her lips with a gentle smile, and he remembered her as she used to be – so nervous and untrusting. "I am."

"I'm proud of you, too, Em," She glanced at him with a quizzical expression. "You really have a grip on your OCD."

She rang the dishcloth through her hands and settled back against the counter.

"I hide it."

He shook his head slowly, and his eyes were calm, docile and warm. She missed that.

"I think you deal with it."

He reached forward with her teacup, and the tips of his fingers grazed hers.

She looked down bashfully. Since he had left, no one had praised her. Her mother had told her what she had done wrong in her marriage, that she was too attached to Lacey. Carl obviously had zero thanks for the way she had raised their daughter. When Emma had been served with the papers that early morning just after Christmas, simply reading Carl's reasoning for asking for full custody of Lacey had made Emma physically sick. An unfit mother battling mental illness? For almost five years, Emma had littered Lacey with constant praise. And there had not been a single soul to thank Emma, or tell her she was amazing. Not a single soul but the whispers of past love in letters from Will.

"Thank you, Will."

Emma glanced over at Lacey, her body so small on the large black leather sofa. "Would you like to come into the guest room to talk?" Emma whispered. He nodded and followed her down the hall.

"Tomorrow is my day off," Will murmured as he closed the door behind him. "I want to take you both somewhere special."

"Where?" Emma tilted her head to the side in curiosity and sat on one of the lounge chairs.

"I want to take you to the top of New York City."

Emma chuckled and raised an eyebrow. "The Empire State Building?"

He stood by the window, and glanced down at the street below. A quiet, hidden lane. So chic and demure.

"No. Harlem."

When he brought the rim of his mug to his lips and turned to Emma, she was wide-eyed.

"I'm joking," Will laughed. "And Harlem isn't really the cliché that people make it out to be. Harlem is actually quite lovely." He sat down on the chair opposite, and watched as Emma slipped her boots off and curled her legs into her own lounge. God, she was so beautiful. So sweet and pure and titillating. He swallowed.

"People make such a fuss about the Empire State Building, but I love Top of The Rock." Emma raised an eyebrow in question. "Rockefeller Center," Will clarified.

"Oh."

"It has great views of the city, and although it's going to be freezing up there, the air isn't clearer anywhere else."

Emma laughed and shook her head at his silly observation, her curls falling over her face until she raked a hand though her locks to push them back. "Isn't it the same air as the top of the Empire State?"

"No, no." He shook his head jokingly. "Now you're talking about two completely different atmospheres."

"I'm sorry, Mr New York," Emma played.

He grinned widely. "Apology accepted."

They were both quiet for a long moment, and Emma looked down into her tea. She was glad that she told him she hated coffee. It was worth it.

He shifted in his chair and leant forward, so near to Emma that she straightened in her single longue chair, stunned by his movement. "So would you like to go?" he wondered aloud.

He was so close that she had to stop herself from reaching out and placing her hand on his chest, to casually feel his steady heartbeat as she had when they had flirted shamelessly long ago – in lunch rooms and hallways and offices.

She restrained herself. "I'd love to."

* * *

><p><em>The Tourists<em>

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><p>The air was crisp, but standing beside the ice, hidden in the low cove that hosted the ice skating rink at Rockefeller Center, Emma felt warmer than she had all morning. Emma entertained that realisation for a moment, before resting her gaze on Lacey and Will. For a moment, she considered her thoughts carefully. It was the way Will held Lacey's hands in his, how he had pulled her onto the ice and told Lacey that she was skating all by herself that made Emma's body flush warmly. It was the way Will had dismissed Emma's hesitations for Lacey to wear hired skates, and allowed the little girl to have fun without worry. It was the smile that spread across Lacey's lips when she turned on the ice to search for her mother, who rested her elbows on the edge of the barrier and watched. Emma felt like she was losing her balance, and she wasn't even on the ice.<p>

Will glanced across the ice at Emma, that all too-familiar smirk gracing his expression. It was what she could have had. But now she was no longer his, and he was no longer hers.

If they hadn't had sex in the beginning, none of this would have happened. If he had just gone to New York, and she had farewelled him with a kiss on his cheek and the simple touch of her hand to his, maybe her life wouldn't have derailed from the tracks she had built herself, and the carriage wouldn't have cascaded so far down the mountain of never ending craving. She wished they hadn't had sex. Then she wouldn't remember how it felt. And it had felt _good_.

Emma bit her lip, and, as best she could from a distance, silently thanked Will with her stare. Will and Lacey were on the other side of the ice, and the rink was packed with tourists and professional skaters and...people. So many people. Emma tried to find the two again. There they were. Lacey in her thick white jacket and Will in his long black coat. His eyes were focused on Lacey. He was saying something to Lacey, and Lacey was laughing. They both looked at Emma, but then skated off once more.

Surely he was happy to have her back. He was. Definitely. He had said so a few times in the week since they had arrived. But there wasn't that pure gleam of desperate longing in his eyes. Just subtle happiness. Emma watched him, and felt her heart soar at the image of Will and her daughter together. He was so kind and loving. It would be so easy to ask for more. A different kind of satisfaction. But was it only Emma who was experiencing _those _feelings? Was this one sided?

"Mommy, I felt like magic out there," Lacey squealed with excitement as Will lifted her over the rim of the ice rink and onto steady ground.

"You looked like magic, baby." Emma adjusted Lacey's beanie, pulling it down over her ears where it had ridden up. Emma kissed her daughters cold cheek a number of times and Lacey giggled as Emma joked that Lacey must have turned into the ice princess because her cheeks were so cold. Will watched with a smile as he took off the skates, knowing just how quickly Emma's warm lips would bring the blood to the surface of his frozen cheeks.

They rode the elevator to the Top of the Rock, and amongst a group of at least eighteen people all staring up at the light show on the roof of the large elevator, Lacey loudly announced that Will's elevator was so much better than this one. Emma blushed and a few of the people in the elevator laughed. Will said "I think so, too, Lacey."

At the very top of the building, Lacey sat on Emma's hip to see over the edge of the balcony as the three marvelled at the city below. When Will offered for Lacey to sit upon his shoulders, Emma was thankful to be rid of the weight of her four year old. Lacey made it very clear that the view from Will's shoulders was spectacular, but she soon became bored, and then immediately infatuated with the binocular stand.

As Lacey stood on the little binocular deck and narrowed in on buildings and bridges, Emma stood beside Will, and attempted to recognise landmarks. Will pointed out the most exciting ones, and Emma guessed some locations correctly, which excited her perhaps too much.

Will breathed in the fresh air and closed his eyes as Emma chatted about some documentary she had watched about New York back in Lima. But the only words he really heard leave her lips were _documentary_ and _tallest building_ and _I thought of you_.

"So where is The Street of Hopes and Dreams from here?" Emma smiled at Will as he opened his eyes.

Standing behind her to direct her line of sight, Will reached over her shoulder to point towards Broadway.

Her perfume was strong. What he'd give to bury his face in the crook of her neck. The worst part was that he remembered how smooth her skin was, the way she would arch her neck into his mouth. His hands. His touch.

He didn't have much, but as Emma stood oblivious, gazing down at the world below and wondering aloud where his apartment was, he moved closer to her, and his chest heaved at the scent of her. She smelled like home. Strands of her hair wiped his face in the wind.

Did she really think he had ever really gone away?

He stood back and moved to stand beside her once more.

"Em, I was thinking...If you're planning on staying for a little while, and no pressure, maybe I could set up another room for Lacey in the office."

She trained her focus on Will, his eyes gleaming with hope.

"I was thinking that I could make it a little nicer for her, Will continued. "That couch can't be too comfortable and we can't really be in the kitchen or living area after she's asleep."

Emma looked over to her daughter and could see the happiness on her face. It was an adventure than hadn't really begun.

"Thank you, Will." Emma was beginning to feel alive. She looked down at the city, the busyness of it all. So foreign and grand.

"So you gave it all up for this, huh?" Emma asked jovially.

Will turned and stared at her, his gaze penetrating and offended.

At his lack of response, Emma glanced up to find his eyes trained on her. Dark. Determined.

"I didn't give up anything, Emma."


	12. Part Two 4a

AN: This is Part One of chapter 4 (for the second half of this fic). Life has been hectic, so I haven't had much time to write fanfic, but I figured if I could publish two parts to this chapter, that's better than waiting another week for the whole thing. Part two will be posted as soon as possible. Thanks so much for the amazing reviews! They keep me interested!

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><p>The note Emma left her mother on the dresser in Lacey's bedroom in Lima told her mother that they'd be okay, that Emma would make contact in a few months when she was settled in where she needed to be, where it was safe. And Emma was almost safe.<p>

On a Tuesday, in the fourth week of their stay in New York City, Emma allowed Lacey to go alone with Will to the theatre during the day. He had offered to take Lacey to work after she wondered aloud if normal people like her could ever do what Will did. In fact, he had confessed to Emma that he had made it his life's quest to get little Lacey on that stage and show her she could be anything she wanted to be. Emma had cried herself to sleep that night, knowing that in just four weeks Will was more invested in Lacey's interests than Carl ever had been.

Emma had treasured the alone time, taking a frosty walk through Central Park to think everything over and have a little cry that she blamed the icy wind for when an old man had asked if she was okay. As she walked and walked, Emma thought about what it was that she was doing. With tight fists stashed in her pockets, Emma realised that after being in New York for four weeks and watching everything play out around her, she was certain of what she had to do to keep Lacey.

A court wouldn't rule Emma an unfit mother if she was married and no longer a single parent battling OCD. Will would tell them that his wife was strong and amazing and the perfect mother. Yes, in just a few months, when she was certain he still loved her, she could tell Will that she loved him, and that she wanted to marry him. They'd be husband and wife, as Emma truly wanted, and she'd have Lacey forever. The last four weeks had been wonderful. In a short time, Lacey could enrol in school in the city, and Emma could find a job. And she could be with Will the way she wanted.

Why hadn't she done this already? Emma asked herself. But she knew why. Emma loved Will, and hurting him to get what she wanted was the last thing on her agenda. It had been her responsibility to make sure he wanted her, that he wasn't involved with anyone else, so that when she said go, he would ask her to marry him without a single thought. And judging by his subtle affection and longing looks, he was already hers. Will wanted her in every way, and now that Carl hadn't found them in a month, things were looking good. Emma was taking it slowly, allowing herself to be more flirty around Will as the odds of Carl finding her became slimmer. But now she had to be certain Will loved her, because she couldn't handle another divorce again. And when she knew for certain that Will loved her, she'd have to marry him instantly in fear of Carl finding them and whisking her away, breaking Will's heart in the process id he was forced to chose between Emma and Broadway.

Emma knew instant marriages. She could do it again. At least it would be to the right man this time. She had time for Will to fall in love with her, and the game of holding off was just making him want her more. He had to keep falling in love with her. And he would. She knew he would, because it happened so many times before.

The original plan was changing. She hadn't originally allowed herself to seduce him during the first five months. She remembered the first time she went visited the park with Will, when he told her he didn't want new memories if she wasn't staying. But now she couldn't help herself. Besides, she was just wasting time. If she was honest with herself, Emma knew that the odds of Carl finding her and Lacey were still as strong even after five months of hiding. Not as likely, but still strong. Why not start a little earlier and be certain this was what she wanted?

As she walked, Emma shook her head. It was getting so out of control that sometimes Emma wasn't certain what the plan was anymore. And when she looked into Will's eyes, sometimes she forgot what she'd told herself to do to keep control. _Don't let him fall too deeply in love with you just yet. And don't fall completely in love with him until he's your husband. _

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><p>Emma knelt upon the enormous black sofa in Will's apartment, peering out through the glass wall of the room that the sofa was pushed against. Will watched her, the way she held onto the back of the enormous piece of furniture and gazed in wonder to the street below, the street lights that illuminated the staircases which led down to basements and stoops which led to smaller apartment blocks.<p>

"New York is so alive at night," Emma murmured. Will dimmed the kitchen lights and climbed next to Emma. She turned and shifted down the bed, sighing as she ran a hand through her long red hair. Emma hadn't realised what a toll being a single parent took until she was around an adult for more than five minutes. Having someone else to distract Lacey while she cooked or had a shower was a heavenly treat. It had been a long day with Will at the theatre and Emma and Lacey at the apartment all day, the snow to heavy to really leave the apartment. Emma pulled her legs beneath her, realising in the comfort of being able to wear a skirt for the first time since she had arrived in New York. Today, they hadn't ventured outside, and a flowing skirt had been the dress of choice.

"Em, there's something that I want to talk to you about."

Emma nodded softly, a gentle smile resting upon her lips. Will cleared his throat.

"Last week you said that I gave everything up for the city. I didn't. I gave it up to perform." He paused, and Emma nodded for him to continue. When he did, the words tumbled from his lips in a desperate rush.

"I was stabbed a few years ago. I didn't want to write to you about it, because I didn't want you to worry."

Emma raised her hand to the bridge her nose, and held her fingers there tightly as she closed her eyes. "Oh, Will," she whispered, her features scowled in pain.

"I was fine. It happened one night, just on the corner at the other end of this block."

When she opened her eyes, he forced a slight grin. Emma's eyes bore into Will's, glassy and tormented. _I shouldn't have told her. Yes, you should have. She should know that there was a time when you could have been taken from her. She needs to realise that it isn't a game. _

Will lifted the hem of his shirt and unbuttoned his jeans. Without Will lowering the zip, Emma could see the top of a white scar that seemed to run lower into his pants. The marred skin was so pale against the tanned skin of his lower torso. Poor Will. He was so sensitive and gentle. It made Emma ill to think that someone would hurt him like that. And he had had no one to love him the way he should have been loved, no one to run to his side and cry over what had happened. He had most likely been alone. In the five weeks she had been in New York City, Emma had never felt more definite of her decision to run to Will.

The five weeks in New York City had been long and so wonderful. Not one for crowds, Emma usually stayed at Will's apartment during the day, entertaining Lacey and cooking dinners for Will to come home to between matinees and eight pm shows. They had been to the theatre once more for a Sunday matinee, this time with second row tickets, but Lacey had fallen asleep halfway through act two, so Emma hadn't taken the opportunity to go backstage to meet Will's friends. Not once had Will brought another woman home, and though they weren't dating, Emma was grateful that he would consider her feelings. Because he knew that feelings were involved in whatever this was- he'd always known that feelings were involved.

The scar was so wild and vibrant, and the way Will's eyes masked over with settled anger and resentment as he looked down at it made Emma's chest swell with compassion. She had to touch him. _You're so beautiful, Will. _

Emma reached out, and so gently, rested the entire pad of her index finger along what she could see of the scar. How low did it travel? How deep did it travel? The skin was hot, burning, and his muscles flexed inwards as her palm brushed the trail of hair that led to his bellybutton. She swallowed and licked her lips.

Pain seized Will, but he sat in silence as Emma ran her finger along the scar. He could tell from her expression that she was searching for an apology for what had happened to him. He didn't want that. He didn't want one warm slender finger running up and down his scar. He wanted her tongue running over the length of it. He wanted the hot, wet flesh between her legs thrusting for his fingers, his mouth, him. He wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair and wrap an arm around her waist and press her against a wall, a fridge, the elevator.

Will pulled his shirt down, but instead of pulling away, Emma's hand rested lower atop his thigh. It was too much. Just the heat of her hand, those gentle hands that rested on her daughters cheeks in loving caresses Will, too, wanted. Those smooth hands that had held his hand in a hospital waiting room years before. Determined hands that had held his desire for her on a night of whimpered goodbyes and aching hellos.

"The wound wasn't deep, but I didn't know that at the time it was happening. I thought I was going to die. All I kept thinking was that I had never kissed you again or made love to you again or just _talked_ to you, Emma."

She closed her eyes and shook her head, and Will nodded, trying to cool down. Not a breath escaped her lips, but he could feel his heart pounding, afraid it was too loud. He didn't want to interrupt anything she wanted to say. It was true. The letters hadn't sensationalised anything. It had always been this intense. She was so silent. He started again.

"Someone called an ambulance, and when they got there I thought I'd be okay. Then I stopped being afraid of dying because I was in capable hands, and started to be afraid of what might happen if I couldn't perform anymore. I thought that maybe it was a sign. If I couldn't dance and sing, maybe I'd have to go home to Lima."

Emma gazed at him, her eyes glassy and her chin quivering in intervals. "But you were okay."

"I was okay."

She breathed a sigh, and relaxed further into the couch. "How long were you off work for?"

"Five months." He rested his head on the back of the sofa and gazed up at the roof. "Enough to be compensated." The leather stuck to the back of his neck, made hot by the blush that had surfaced when she brought her hand to his thigh moments before. "It has helped to pay for all this stuff, this apartment." Every slight movement of her hand was making him faint. The weight was only arousing.

"It must have been deep for you not to be able to dance for so long."

Will turned his head to look at Emma. "It wasn't quite as deep as other pain."

She bit her lip. "Like?"

"Like that day you told me you couldn't come to sectionals, when you told me that you were in love with another man. And then you kissed my cheek. You told me you were in love with another man and you kissed my cheek." Emma blinked slowly, her cheeks colouring pink in guilt. "That...that was the most painful thing I've ever experienced."

She looked up at him, and Will's stare told of all the other pain that had chipped away at the person he had once been. His divorce. When he discovered Emma was pregnant. When he had last kissed her goodbye, their tongues duelling and her thighs quivering as he brought her to orgasm for the last time in his bed. When he had been with other women and heard Emma's cries. When he remembered Emma's taste. Every Christmas morning for the last five years. Every time a letter arrived in his mailbox. Every time a letter didn't arrive in his mailbox.

"If that's the most painful thing you've ever experienced, then what's the most pleasurable?" Emma whispered.

The question caught him off guard. _Don't spend too much time in the past, Will. She's here now. She has been for five weeks. It's time to take it further._

"I don't know if I could tell you that," Will smirked. "You're such a lady."

Her hand shifted on his thigh.

"Tell me, Will."

She didn't croon or seduce. Emma demanded the answer so sweetly, her voice so neutral and honest. She wanted to know his height of pleasure. She _really_ wanted to know. And she was asking in that squeaky, innocent voice that drove him mad because it was so _Emma_. He could remember the spasms of her body, the gasps, the whimpers and mews. _Emma. Emma. Emma._

"Is this turning you on, Will?"

Her eyes flitted from the bulge in his pants to his hooded eyes, and Will waited, wondering if it was a good idea to tell her the truth. _God_, how they could take it further than this.

He pulled back and ran a hand through his hair. Sensing his confusion, Emma drew her hand away from his thigh and shook her gaze from his evident arousal.

"I'm sorry Emma," Will mumbled. "I just haven't been around a woman like you in so long."He drew a shuddering breath. "I haven't been around _you_ in so long."

She straightened against the back of the sofa. Her entire body felt tense. Suppressing such desires for five weeks was exhausting.

"That's okay," she sighed. "I understand what it's like."

"You do?"

"Yes."

And that was now, when she knew what sex could do to a person. Now she knew what it meant when her body craved the touch of another, when her lips wanted to beg for more. The ache had been tremendous in the past when they hadn't ever made love and there had been years of lust boiling at the surface. But now...

Emma raked a trembling hand through her hair. "I haven't been with anyone since Carl, and I guess I've kind of forgotten what it's like, you know?"

He swallowed and nodded. Emma sighed. "Everything is heightened when you wait so long," she muttered, reaching a hand across the sofa to the side table and grasping her wine glass tightly. The taste of grape and something stronger burned her throat, but as it travelled lower she could feel the chilly liquid cooling her heavy heart.

"I could show you what it's like again."

His words caused the hairs on her forearms to stand up. With the widening of her eyes, Emma gulped the rest of what was in her glass.

Will watched awkwardly, realising he'd spoken too soon and taken things too fast. They were way off their game. "I'm sorry, Emma. That was out of line."

He shook his head and stood up, walking across the foyer to the kitchen where he'd left his wine glass. For a long moment, without Will in sight, Emma wondered if he'd gone to bed and left her there.

When he returned, his stare was sheepish, and he looked more tormented than earlier.

"It's okay, Will," Emma whispered as she watched him skull the rest of his wine as she had with hers moments before. "I understand my being here would bring about memories." He glanced up and licked his lips. "You've been so good to us, and I realise it must be a tease."

"It's not a tease, Em," Will sighed. "You're many wonderful things. But you've never been a tease."

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><p>Spoiler for Part Two of this chapter:<p>

"You know last night when you offered to show me what it was like again..." Emma blushed as she stood in the middle of the doorframe of her bedroom, her nightgown too short and her chest heaving. "Well, I'd like that."


	13. Part Two 4b

**Part Two of Chapter 12**

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><p>Emma and Lacey entered through the front doors of the theatre after the Friday matinee was over and the last theatre-goers were leaving. Waiting for Will by the stage door made her feel unimportant, and the crowds were too loud and too excited. Lacey had been accidentally shoved in the shoulders the week before by the stage-door, and they hadn't even been anywhere near the barrier gates. Will had told Emma to ask for him at the box-office, that he would let the staff know he was expecting her.<p>

"Hi, I'm here to see Will Schuester. I'm Emma. He had my name down on the entry sheet."

The box-office attendant smiled. "Just wait here, please, Mam. I'll just find the write up."

When he returned, the young man led Emma backstage. But for various costumes hung on walls and half a dozen set pieces neatly arranged backstage, the area wasn't as colourful and vibrant as Emma imagined. It was dark and the air was stale beneath the distant scent of hairspray that still lingered from the performance. And it was quiet. It seemed that most of the cast had left, and from where she was standing, Emma could only see a few crew members in the wings and on stage.

Will's dressing room door was wide open when the attendant pointed Emma to it. Lacey pointed out the fact that she'd already been in Will's dressing room weeks before, and as one of the chorus girls passed Emma and Lacey, she smiled and thanked Lacey for coming backstage again. _How ironic_, Emma thought. _Carl's daughter has seen Will's dressing room before I have. That's just who Will is- and why you ran here instead of Oklahoma or Texas. _

Emma felt the gentle pull of her daughter's grasp as she made her way into Will's dressing room.

"Hi, Will!"

Will turned in his chair.

"Hey, Lacey."

Emma smiled from the doorway. "Hey."

"Hey, Em. This is Jacinta."

The leading lady. Emma smiled without her eyes, and watched as Lacey hopped up onto Will's dressing table next to Jacinta. While Lacey's legs smug over the edge of the table, Jacinta sat tall, her stocking-clad legs so long they almost touched the floor. Lacey smiled up at Jacinta with awe and idolisation, and jealousy flushed Emma's cheeks. _My daughter has never looked at me like that._

Jacinta shook her hair, blonde curls falling around her shoulders. "Will's told me so much about you."

Jacinta rested her sultry eyes on Will, and he blushed as he looked up at her and grinned. Emma stood by the door, unsure where to look. There was clearly chemistry between the two.

"Well, I really have to get going," Jacinta announced. Emma heard Lacey sigh an 'Aww.'

As Jacinta jumped off the desk, Will reached forward and grabbed her hand. Jacinta turned towards him.

"Good luck, Jess." The sincerity of his tone and the intensity of his stare frightened Emma. That was how he looked at her, how he spoke to her. He cared about this woman.

Jacinta nodded at Will, and passed Emma on her way out. Their eyes met. Emma looked away.

Emma waited for Will to explain why he'd wished his co-star good luck. He didn't.

"I guess it's like a family here," Emma commented.

Will's smile wasn't as wide as it had been moments before in the company of the other woman. "I'm happy," he whispered softly, more to himself than to Emma. Lacey began to look over the cosmetics on Will's desk, but Emma barely payed attention as she watched Will. He looked up at slowly, and the courage Emma had moments before vanished as she lowered her gaze. "I mean, I'm kind of happy…"

"Mommy, Will wears make-up!" Lacey laughed. Emma smiled at Lacey, and Will joked that he looked prettier than Emma when he was wearing make-up. Lacey laughed and Emma looked up at Will, thankful for the compliment. But all she could read in his eyes was _Jacinta, Jacinta, Jacinta._

"There was something that I wanted to talk to you about, Em." Will patted the seat next to him, and Emma moved to sit down.

"I was telling one of my friends here about you. She teaches dancing at the arts high school, and they're looking for a guidance counsellor."

That's why his eyes didn't shine as bright. He was becoming tired of pretending Emma just being there was enough. It wasn't enough. She was already hurting him.

Emma hesitated to respond.

"It's right next door to the elementary school, so Lacey wouldn't be far from you. And I'm not saying you'd get the job. But if you went in for an interview, at least there's the chance. That way, New York would offer you more than just Will Schuester."

Emma smiled. He was so beautiful. The lopsided grin. Sparkling blue-green eyes. "Am I presumptuous in thinking that Will Schuester is planning on offering me more than a career if I moved to New York?"

She watched him bite the inside of his cheeks in an attempt to hide his smile. "Not presumptuous at all." The light was slowly returning to his eyes. She could make him happy. "It's just something to think about, Em."

She nodded and smiled.

Why had an opportunity sprung up so suddenly? If she went for a job interview and gave all of her information, there would be more of a chance of Carl finding them. She couldn't get a job until she was married to Will and safe. She'd withdrawn enough money to last until then. The opportunity was wonderful, though. Marriage was the next step. She could tell him she was moving to New York, and he'd ask her to Marry him. She'd do this, as soon as she was certain he wanted it.

When Lacey asked why she needed to go to a school in New York when she already had a school in Lima, Will turned to Emma for the answer.

Emma paused.

Women passed by the door in costumes and plain clothes, all as beautiful as the next, regardless of what they were wearing. The women were so beautiful, and all Emma could think about were Jacinta's long, shapely legs that crossed upon Will's dressing room table. Had he been with Jacinta? Did he want to be with Jacinta? Had Emma made up all of the longing looks of the last five weeks in her mind?

He hadn't brought anyone home, and Emma certainly didn't want that to happen. But what if he soon became tired with Emma, and she was making warm beverages for three adults instead of two the next morning?

Emma had to make Will want her. She had to be certain that he was hers and that he wouldn't hesitate to marry her. And it had to happen quickly, otherwise everyone would get hurt.

Emma swallowed. "Lacey, Mommy is thinking of moving to New York to live with Will, and that way, you would go to school here."

Lacey contemplated this for a moment, and then her eyes lit up with a question.

"Mommy, why do you want to live with Will and not with Daddy?"

* * *

><p>The reminder of the day stayed long into the night.<p>

As Emma gently untied the plaits of Lacey's dark hair before putting her daughter to bed, Emma commented on how long her daughter's hair was, and Lacey sighed loudly. "I wish I had yellow hair like Jacinta."

"You have beautiful hair, baby."

"No I don't. Don't you wish you had yellow hair like Jacinta, Mommy?" Emma bit her lip, and was silent as Lacey continued. "When I'm old, maybe I'll wear a wig everyday so I can be as pretty as Jacinta."

When Will came home from the performance, Lacey was asleep.

They hadn't been alone to discuss Lacey's question and the tension between Emma and Will had grown to uncomfortable. In the back of Emma's mind, she knew Will understood her. The letters had told him everything, perhaps too much. But his letters…they had told too much.

"I'm going to take a shower, Em."

"How was the show?"

"It was wonderful."

"Jacinta wasn't there?"

"No. Clarissa understudied for her." He closed the bathroom door behind him.

When Will returned twenty minutes later, Emma listened to his footsteps from her bedroom. She saw the light from the kitchen disappear from under her bedroom door. No. He bedroom door creaked as she opened it.

"Will?" she asked the darkness.

He stepped back into the hallway. "Yeah?" He couldn't see her in the dark, but he was drawn to her voice. The sweet pitch was too much, too inquisitive. He'd waited too long for her, and he was beginning to wonder if the hollow sounds of her pleasured cries would haunt him forever. Would she ever be his again? Would they ever enjoy each other as they had that night once upon a time in Ohio? There was nothing left for her there. Why wouldn't she be with him?

"I just…I think you're wonderful on stage." He was silent. "Sometimes I wonder whether you think you shouldn't be there, that you should still be coaching glee club. Those kids took you for granted, Will. Like I did. But being on that stage, you teach hundreds of people the importance of theatre and music and art every night." She released a trembling breath. "You're special to so many people." The hitch in her voice was painful and real and so revealing. "And you're special to me."

He turned the kitchen light back on.

"Emma…" His stre was fuelled by longing and confusion and the sheer pain of having to hold back and never touch her because she wasn't ready.

"I remember us, Will," Emma whispered. "How we were…"

He smiled softly and nodded. "I know."

They stood in the hallway, contemplating what how their lust could evolve to be something wonderful, and how deeply it could hurt them; how deeply it already had hurt them.

"You know last night when you offered to show me what it was like again..." Emma blushed as she stood in the middle of the doorframe of her bedroom, her nightgown too short and her chest heaving. "Well, I'd like that."

He raised a hand and ran his fingers through curls she hadn't combed with her fingers since the night she committed adultery. "Thank god," he murmured, his voice gruff as his gaze travelled over her. Finally he could touch her, and he'd make her whimper in frustration and thrust with desperation. He'd give her what she liked.

She bit her lip.

"But, Will, only once." She clutched at her heart. Will's pulse raced too fast. "Because if I have to leave, it hurts me too."

"I know that, I know that," he crooned as he stepped closer. He clenched his fists at his sides in an effort not to reach out and touch her too soon. "So why won't you stay?" he wondered. "Make the decision now."

She shook her head, and her chin trembled.

"I want to, but I have a life in Lima," she lied. _I am moving here to be with you if he doesn't find me. If only I could tell you that now. When I marry you, then he can find us. I'll be married and I won't be an unfit, single mother. And you'll help me._

Will shook his head.

"Lacey's happy here."

"She doesn't know if she's happy or not."_ I hope to god Carl doesn't find us because you're right, she is happy here and I should have come to you much sooner. You could have been her father. It could have been real. _"She's just a child."

"Stop making excuses, Emma," Will pleaded.

Emma gazed into his eyes, so tired and tormented. What had she done? How had she ruined everything when she'd never taken a truly dangerous risk in her entire life? She'd been so careful. Why didn't anyone want her?

Emma lowered her gaze, and watched the lump in Will's throat bob. There was slight stubble on his chin. Rough. Dirty. Just as he had been that night…

Emma reached out and touched the smooth expanse of skin between his collarbone and shirt. The skin was soft, hairless. So different to his jaw line. So different to that night. What did she want? There were memories which helped her answer the question. And the things she had let him do to her in the bed he'd once shared with his wife…

He touched his thumb to her bottom lip, and traced the soft flesh. Her body tingled.

"I just miss you," Emma breathed against his thumb hotly. "I miss the way you make me feel."

He led her to her bedroom, and locked the door. He pushed his hand against her shoulder as she sat down in the chair by the window, and was thankful it wasn't sunny. It was dark and wild and desperate. Emma whimpered. She reached for Will, his lips and his focus, but he knelt before her before she had a chance to press her lips to his, run her tongue against his and breathe with him. He ran his hands along her thighs, rubbing up and down until her nightgown was bunched up around her hips. He pulled her panties down her legs and she squirmed in hot confusion. His fingertips were bruising on her hips as he pulled her forward, towards him. The back of her naked thigh rubbed against his cotton undershirt when he lifted one of her legs over his shoulder. The scratch of his stubble on the inside of her thigh was maddening.

The first lick silenced her. His tongue was hot. Too hot. She hadn't felt it against hers for five long, painful years.

She began to cry.

The hot tears that fell over her cheeks weren't just hers. She cried those tears for Will, too.

He licked and nibbled and waited for her to call his name and begin to buck her hips. The taste of her was too much. Her velvety skin, hot and slippery and swollen because of him.

Then he heard it.

Sobs. Gentle, painful sobs.

He pulled back and saw her tears.

"Maybe another time, Em." She opened her eyes and stared into his expression of arousal and pain. "We'll try again."

Just one chance to make love. They'd try again. And surely once wouldn't hurt them. When it was over, then she'd be certain.


	14. Part Two 5

AN: Sorry about the wait. Life got in the way. Thank you everyone for your interest in this story and my other stories I've received reviews for recently. I've said it before, but I'll say it again because it's so true: It means a lot that some readers take the time to thank fanfic writers. We don't get paid for writing, and it takes up a lot of time to churn out a basic chapter that we hope people will enjoy. To hear that you do is a wonderful treat. In saying that, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

><p>Will woke to the sound of Lacey's giggles missing and the mattress beside him cold. He reached his hand out further, but instead of finding his wife's naked back, he met a paper note curled into a cylinder and held together with his wife's wedding ring.<p>

* * *

><p>Dear Will,<p>

You've made me so happy, and I know I've made you happy, too. Last night was incredible. I've never felt such pleasure and happiness. The things you said to me, and the promises that you made, were so lovely and passionate. So that is why I have to leave.

* * *

><p>"<em>But Mommy, what if Will wakes up and we're gone?"<em>

_Emma was quiet and the elevator doors met and her slight of the large black couch vanished into her memory. _

"_Shouldn't we ask Will what baggle he wants?" Lacey yawned._

_Emma tried to block out the thought of his arms, the safety she felt as he had held her last night. The elevator doors opened on the ground floor._

"_Mommy why is it dark outside if it's breakfast time?"_

* * *

><p>Will, I can't live with the guilt anymore.<p>

Four months ago, Carl sent me a letter demanding full custody of Lacey. He claimed that I was an unfit mother with a mental illness, and that he would use such a term in court against me. I couldn't lose Lacey, Will. So, I came to you.

When I arrived in New York, I had the full intention of not allowing you to fall in love with me for five months. I thought that after that time Carl wouldn't bother to find me. I thought that if I had to go away again, if you weren't in love with me, you wouldn't get hurt. It would be like we were catching up. But we fell into our old rhythm too fast. I'd already hurt you. My only hope then was to marry you as fast as I could. If I married you, Lacey would have a real family, and Carl couldn't have her.

Somewhere along the line, somewhere between nights spent flirting in your kitchen and seeing that woman in your dressing room, I stopped worrying about you getting hurt, and I wanted you to marry me instantly. I was frightened of Carl finding us, and petrified of fallen in love with you. I couldn't find a balance. I used you, and for that, I am so profoundly sorry. I love you with all that I am, and you are the one I have hurt deeply.

I wasn't going to tell you, and maybe now you wish that I hadn't. But you need to know it, Will. Carl wanted Lacey, and that is why I married you. I thought it would be okay to live that lie, that Carl's threat was my main motivation for marrying you, but lying in your arms last night, on our wedding night, I realised I've always wanted to marry you for _us_. And I'd ruined that. I tainted it with my lie. I came to you because I needed your help. Realising how much you love me, that I was lying to you…the guilt was overwhelming.

* * *

><p><em>Will pulled his wife closer. <em>"_Can you feel that?"_

_Her nipples brushed against his, and as she straddled his lap, his fingers dug into her thigh._

_She nodded and swallowed. _"_It feels good," she whispered. _

_He lifted her, and when she fell upon him again, slowly this time, he thrust into her, hard. __She moaned, and her eyes slipped closed. _

"_Tell me you've wanted me," he choked as he watched her tense expression. _

_She bit her lip, striving for deeper arousal she hadn't felt in so long. His palms left her hips and slid around to the arch of her back, holding her closer. He could feel the quake of her belly as he lowered a hand and pressed it against her velvet heat. _

_She was quiet as she bounced up and down on his length, and he could feel her behind tense against his thigh each time she fell. "Tell me how wet I make you."_

"_Ohgodyoumakemesowet," she breathed in a rush as she stopped rising and began to circle her hips against him._

"_Wait, wait," he mumbled against her neck as she began to convulse. _

_She groaned, desperate for orgasm that was so close it stung. _

_He smoothed her hair back over her shoulders, and admired her flushed neck, the bite marks he'd made earlier in the night when they'd made love languorously. Maybe a few were from the time after that. He could just make out the hands of the clock above his window—quarter past three. _

"_Look at me." _

_She was, but she stared deeper into his eyes. _

"_I've never felt so loved, Emma." At the sensation of his member pulsing inside of her, she began to grind against him again. He watched her. "I'm glad that we didn't make love before this. I've wanted to touch you as your husband since…" he trailed off. _

_She pressed her lips against the soft skin of his neck, and tightened her thighs around his waist. Oh god, she was almost there. "Emma…what I want is to wake up with your arms and legs wrapped around me, just like all those years ago." _

_He was so passionate, so clear-minded although he was panting and sweaty and his pace was becoming erratic. He felt so much larger inside of her. Oh. She wanted more of him. _

"_Tell me what you remember, Emma," Will breathed huskily as he pumped into her harder. She cried out as he bit her nipple and pulled at it with his teeth. "Tell me what you remember about our first night together."_

* * *

><p>Our wedding was beautiful. Dressed in that beautiful cream gown, my daughter looked at me as though I were one of the princesses from her favourite Disney films. But the way you looked at me as we stood on Bow Bridge, just the three of us and a celebrant, you made me feel like the most desirable woman on Earth.<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>You may kiss the bride."<em>

_His arm scooped around her back, and drew her against him. She laughed, and his lips captured hers, his tongue soon finding its way to move against hers, lapping, massaging, thrusting. _

_When Emma pulled back, she was dizzy. Will's hands held her against him, and Emma faintly heard Lacey yelling 'hello' to the people in the row boats below, and then telling them that her mommy was getting married to Will 'right now!'_

_Emma blinked twice and watched Will's forehead wrinkle as he smiled widely._

"_This is the best day of my life, Emma."_

* * *

><p>I regret asking you to marry me. Even if it would have worked out, what I feel for you doesn't work. It's mad, Will, and it scares me. I can't be a mother and your lover. I don't think there is enough of me to go around. It makes me feel crazy, as though I don't know who I am when you do.<p>

* * *

><p><em>They stepped into Will's elevator, completely silent as the doors shut behind them and closed off their view of the ground floor. Will searched for his elevator key in his wallet. <em>

"_Rachel has really grown into a beautiful woman," Emma noted. "It really was very kind of her to offer to take Lacey for a few hours tonight, especially on her night off."_

"_She doesn't mind at all. Besides, she loves all of the cable channels I have. And don't worry about leaving Lacey with her, either. We just went out to dinner. This has to be the fourth time they've met since you've come to New York. She'll be fine. Rach will probably sit her down and make her watch every Sondheim musical she brought with her. And she owns more than a few…"he trailed off before he moaned, "I can't find my key." _

"_Oh, sorry, I have it." Emma fished through her purse and then handed it to Will. "So you see Rachel often?"_

_Will nodded, but didn't say anything else._

_If she was honest with herself, Emma was concerned just how often Will and Rachel met. Since she'd arrived in New York, Will had gone to Rachel's often, and each time, hadn't come home for hours. There was a connection between the ex-teacher and former student, and Emma couldn't quite pinpoint how it was different to their McKinley days. The relationship had developed, but Emma couldn't recognise if it was sexuality or admiration or flirtation that clouded their eyes each time they hugged each other goodbye. _

_The elevator began to rise._

"_Have you slept with Rachel?"_

_When Will turned to Emma his eyes were so wide that Emma was afraid they would pop out. _

"_I'm sorry, I just—_

"_She reminds me of home, Emma. That's all. That's all Rachel will ever mean to me."_

"_Okay."_

_They were silent. _

"_So you didn't sleep with her?"_

_Will slapped the stop button and pushed Emma firmly against the elevator wall. Her handbag fell to the floor. His hands grasped her wrists, and he held them above her head. _

_Her breathing was laboured, and she stared at his lips. He looked down between them, to where one of his thighs rested between hers. He had caused her little black dress to ride up slightly. _

_He reached down between them, and she gasped._

"_When are you going to realise," he started, trailing his fingers beneath the fabric, "that the only person I want to fuck is you?" He stared deep into her eyes, the warm brown he had always known now so dark they were almost black. Black eyes, fiery red hair. "It's just you, Emma."_

_He fingered the hem of her dress, and she felt his calloused fingertips on the skin of her thigh. Goosebumps followed in their wake._

"_So marry me tomorrow. And then we can, without any bad feelings…" she asked, and then swallowed._

"_That's not all I want."_

"_Okay then. I'll give you more."_

"_And I'll give you more."_

_She nodded, and sheepishly looked down at his fingers on her thigh._

_He straightened her dress, picked up her handbag, and hit the stop button again. As she gained her composure, the elevator began to rise. _

_Her daughter was waiting for her upstairs, and the next day, Lacey would have a stepfather._

_Will's hand reached for Emma's, and their fingers intertwined. In her peripheral vision, Emma could see the wide smile breaking out on Will's lips. The doors opened._

* * *

><p>Thank you for being so wonderful to my daughter. She's never known a man as loyal and exciting as you, and I think she's going to miss you as much as I will. In just a few months, you've been more of a father to her than her own ever has. I wish it could have been you that I'd chosen as the father of my children, but then I realise you already are.<p>

Please add this letter to all of the others, and lock them away from yourself. But keep them for Lacey, so that she can see what I ruined for her sake.

* * *

><p><em>The day after their sorry attempt at intimacy, Emma stood in Will's kitchen alone, bashing chicken fillets until they were paper thin. The thought of Will's face between her legs the night before caused her to blush. She slammed the mallet down against the chopping board harder.<em>

_Emma could hear the ding of the elevator, and waited for Lacey's laugh. _

"_You're defying gravity!" She heard Will's muffled voice boom from the closed, rising elevator, and then Lacey laughed. Emma imagined that Will had just thrown Lacey into the air in the elevator, and caught her again. The elevator pinged and the door opened. Will was holding Lacey on his hip, and Emma smiled. That sense of relief that her daughter was back had slowly begun to disappear each time. Emma was getting over her attachment to Lacey, and trusting other people with her daughter._

"_Where did you go?" Emma asked as she swung the dishcloth over her shoulder and helped Lacey off with her coat._

_Lacey smacked her hand against her lips and tried very ahrd not to giggle, as though she were suppressing a secret. Will watched Lacey, his eyebrows raised and silently hoping she wouldn't tell._

"_We bought you a birthday cake, Mommy!" _

_Will release a sigh and shook his head, trying to cover his grin._

"_I'm sorry, Will, but I couldn't hold it in any longer!" Lacey sighed dramatically._

_Emma laughed and placed her hands on Will's chest. She pressed her lips against his cheek, and whispered 'thank you' against his jaw._

"_Have you been baking?" He asked when she pulled away._

_Emma shook her head. "Just crumbing chicken for dinner." She reached up and wiped her cheek and nose. "Do I have crumbs on my face?"_

_He watched her closely, and then cleared h throat before looking down._

"_No. It's just that your skin is on fire," he mumbled. _

* * *

><p>Will, I've gone back to Lima. If Carl finds me now, I'll have to move to Cape Cod to be closer to my daughter and her father. I give up, Will. I give up because I've done the wrong thing and I have hurt you. I only hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me.<p>

The worst part of this is that I know if I came to New York and told you my situation, you would have suggested that we marry in a heartbeat so that I could keep my child. It would have been truthful, and slowly I could have seduced you. But I lied.

Don't write to me. Don't come and find me. I'll hire a lawyer, and I hope that you will co-operate with me in our divorce. I also understand that you probably never want to speak to me again. I've ruined some of the best years of your life.

I'm so sorry–I'm so sorry that I've made you mine.

You're wonderful, Will. Live your life now, and please be happy.

All my love,

Emma Schuester.


	15. Part Two 6

AN: Thank you all for the lovely reviews for the last chapter. It is very much appreciated. I hope you enjoy this one, too.

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><p>He couldn't stop the tears forming in his eyes, causing his mascara to run. The lights were too bright in the dressing room, his costume itchy. He didn't want to be there. It was too soon to return to work. It was too soon to do anything. Nineteen hours before, he'd been holding his wife in his arms. Twelve hours before, he'd woken to find her gone.<p>

And now, it was almost like she was dead.

Holding Emma so close had seemed like a second skin. And she had felt so soft. So unbelievably soft. Her inner thighs, the underside of the breasts. The spot below her ear, her inner forearm. He had kissed her everywhere. And when he'd woken to find her letter, he realised how stupid he'd been. So, he'd made the bed, and gone to the theatre. He'd sat in his dressing room all day, because being alone in a closed theatre was more comforting than spending the day in his apartment with Lacey's pencils scattered all over the living room floor, Emma's red hair on the shower wall, and the half eaten muffin Lacey was saving until she was really hungry in the refrigerator door. Will hadn't just lost his lover –he'd lost his family.

It wasn't an affair they'd been having. Emma and Will had outgrown that, and he thought they'd been playing with the building blocks of a life together. They had made love more than once on their wedding night, but afterwards, he had held her all night. Her bare stomach pressed against his, their lower bodies tilted together to touch, their upper bodies separated just so, tempting, seducing, as their faces lay inches apart, their lips breathing of romance and a future.

"I've dreamt of this," Will had said when Emma rested her swollen lips on his in the early hours of the morning, hours after he'd made her his once more. His hand had fallen to her hip, adoring the curve that seemed sexier, curvier than it had been the first time they'd made love all those years ago. And to think, all those years ago she'd seemed so fragile, yet he had made love to her countless times that night in Lima. He'd moved within her slowly at first, revelling in the knowledge that her virginity was his, tight and hot and so sensitive. Once that night he had made love to her, and twice afterwards, he had fucked dainty Emma Pillsbury, hard.

But on the night she married him in New York, with Emma Schuester, a mother in his arms, so womanly and divine and so much stronger, they had made love languidly, just twice. It hadn't been fuelled by years of pent up longing this time. It wasn't love-making instigated by the need for release and to know what the other felt like, responded like, moaned like. This time it had been about passion, moving together and knowing it was right.

He'd gazed down into her stare, and ran the hand that wasn't holding himself above her over the side of her body, from breast to hip, and back up again. Goosebumps rose behind his travelling hand.

And he couldn't stop the tears that fell onto her chest. He didn't try to.

"Oh, Will. Honey, why are you crying?" She pressed her palm against his chest. "This is beautiful, Will. So beautiful." He twitched inside her, feeling the heat of her body, so full and safe. "Honey, what's the matter?"

He ceased thrusting into her for the moment, and she stopped the gentle roll of her hips.

"I just…I thought you'd never come back to me. I thought I'd never be happy. But now I have everything—you, Lacey, Broadway. You've given me a family, Emma. You've given me so much love. And now," she watched him swallow, "making love to you…I feel free. I feel as though the other half of me has come back, because she wants me, too. The one person who understands me feels that connection, too."

"Oh, Will."

"We're meant to be together, Emma. I'm so in love with you, and knowing that this is forever makes me…it makes me dizzy."

He began to thrust again. He listed to her moan. He watched her close her eyes and roll her head to the side. She bit her lip.

"Tell me you're mine, Em."

He began to move slower. He wanted it to last. He wanted it to last forever.

She mewed softly at his change of pace.

"I'm yours," she gasped, writhing beneath him. "_Oh, god_, I'm yours!"

She'd fooled him. She'd lied. She wasn't his.

"Will, you have ten minutes until your call."

"Okay," he called back. If only Emma had told him how much time he'd had left.

For the first time in his life, being on stage gave him nothing. And as Will looked out over the audience, all clapping before him, he knew that something was missing. It was the ingredient that decided whether Broadway would ever give him anything again. Before Emma had ever come to him, Will had always held the hope that she could be out in the audience, cheering him on.

Now, that hope was gone.

* * *

><p><em>He ran his index finger down the center of her body, starting between her breasts, and running his fingertip to her navel. Emma lay on Will's bed in her white satin slip.<em>

"_Is she asleep, Will?"Emma asked as his fingertip circled her bellybutton over the material. She was thankful for the darkness. She hadn't been naked in front of anyone for years, and the long white scar drawn across her abdomen was the instigator of Emma's self-consciousness._

"_Sound asleep." _

_Emma inhaled a jagged breath, so darn ready for what she'd been anticipating all day. The wedding had been a sham, even if Will didn't know that. It hadn't been special to her, because she hadn't been doing it for her and Will, but for Lacey and herself. But this, the union that would take place on her wedding night, alone with Will, well…this was her chance to redeem herself. This was the part that would make Emma feel like she was really Will's._

_Will cleared his throat and shifted from sitting on the bed to lay down beside Emma. She rolled into him slightly, his elbow digging into the soft mattress. "I know I've kept you waiting in here for a long time. Lacey fell asleep a while ago, but I just…I wanted to watch her sleep for a bit. That's a bit creepy isn't it, considering she isn't my daughter?"_

_Emma's heart swelled. "No. Not at all. You're her daddy now." She kissed the side of his nose. "And that makes me so happy."_

_She watched the grin tugging at his lips. "You make beautiful children, Emma Pillsbury." She bit her lip, modestly trying to hide her own smile. He gripped the hem of her short nightgown and growled playfully. "Let's make a baby."_

_Emma giggled nervously. "Umm…speaking of babies…I haven't um…I haven't done this since Lacey was born."_

_Will blinked twice._

"_What? Lacey's five next week!" _

_Emma bit her lip and nodded nervously. Will nibbled at her earlobe. "Emma," he breathed against the shell of her ear. "You must be so…frustrated." Oh, God. Yes. Yes. A million times yes. Especially when he spoke to her like that. _

_Will ran a hand across her stomach where they lay together, side by side. His hand travelled to her hipbone, his fingers curling towards her ass. But his thumb lingered, reaching out to brush that spot where her leg met…there. He brushed it and she twitched. "You must feel so…bothered," he whispered. _

_She bit her lip harder, her eyes slipping closed as she nodded. _

_His hand shifted, and his thumb moved closer to its intended target, brushing once, so slowly that Emma shot up on the bed this time. _

"_Don't worry," he breathed against her collarbone when he sat up beside her, his hand resting between her legs. "I can fix that for you." His tongue flicked out against her skin. So hot, he realised. And he had barely touched her. "I'm your husband, now. And, Emma, I can help you anytime you like…"_

* * *

><p>"Mommy, are you awake?" Lacey whispered.<p>

Emma blinked twice, her eyes adjusting to the bright sunshine of the room.

"Mommy, I opened the shutters so it's sunny in here just like your room at Will's!"

Emma closed her eyes again, thinking about the mess she'd made. And Will hadn't come after her. It had been a whole day since she'd left, and the overwhelming regret she woke to this morning hadn't been expected last night when she climbed into her old bed, alone.

"Mommy, I know you're awake! You pretend to be asleep just like Will does, but I know you're not!" Lacey giggled, pressing a fingertip into the point of Emma's nose.

Emma smiled, but felt her heart ache at the thought of taking her daughter away from another father. How long would it take Lacey to stop talking about Will? How long would it take her to forget him?

The ring of the phone broke Emma's thought pattern.

"Can I answer it?" Lacey asked, reaching for the phone.

What if it were Will? Emma was torn between being a complete coward and letting Lacey answer, or answering it herself and facing her problems.

"No. Let Mommy answer it."

Emma picked up the phone. She drew a deep breath. "Hello?"

"It's Carl." Emma's form relaxed. It wasn't Will. Oh, thank god. She couldn't bear to hear his voice. But at the thought of Carl, Emma's throat tightened.

"Hi," she whispered. Lacey watched her closely. "Hold on," she whispered into the phone. "Lace, go and put the TV on in the living room and I'll be out soon."

As Lacey padded across the floor in her fluffy yellow robe, Emma realised she'd left her own robe hanging on the bathroom door in Will's apartment.

"I'm here," Emma said when she held the phone to her ear once again.

She listened as Carl cleared his throat. "Your mother called me last night, said you went to New York, that you were home now."

Emma was quiet.

"Did you go to New York for Will?"

She nodded, and realised Carl couldn't see her. "Yes," she replied, her voice wavering."

There was a long pause before Carl spoke up again.

"I'm engaged, Emma." She knew that. "And my fiancée is pregnant."

"Congratulations," Emma whispered. _I hope you don't disappoint this child_, she was tempted to wish.

"Thank you, Emma." He lowered his voice, "I know I said that I wanted Lacey to come and live with us on the Cape, but I'm not sure I can handle that right now." She heard him release an uneven breath. "I'm not sure if I can ever handle that."

Thank god. Emma could feel the tears burning in her eyes, the sense of relief overwhelming.

"Did you run away to New York for Schuester?" Carl asked. "Or did you run away to take my daughter?"

The thought of Will caused the tears brimming to fall voer her cheeks. She had hurt Will for nothing. Carl had destroyed the only happiness she had ever known with an empty threat.

"Our daughter, Carl," Emma corrected. "And Will was so great with her," she spat into the phone, avoiding his question. "He would make a wonderful father when the time is right."

As angry as she was, Emma felt guilty immediately after speaking so rudely. If she was honest with herself, she was the one who had decided to use Will. She'd had all the money in the world from her divorce and tenure. She could have gone to California, or Florida with Lacey. But she had gone to New York, because she needed to feel safe, too. Carl had hurt Emma deeply, but hurting Will wasn't Carl's fault. It was hers.

She listened to Carl sigh. "Em, what you do in your own life is fine. I want you to be happy. But I know you still hold out hope for having another kid, and as a medical practitioner, I have to tell you that it's pretty much impossible that you'll be able to, even if you—

"Shut up, Carl." Emma swiped at her cheeks. "Don't try to pretend to care what's best for me. You tried to take my only daughter away from me."

"Emma, I'm sorry if this has jeopardised your health, but I honestly do only want what's best for-

"I don't live in hope," Emma said, knowing that Carl was aware she was crying. She couldn't disguise the uneven hitch in her voice every few seconds.

"You do, sweetheart."

Sensing a panic attack, Emma held the phone away for a few moments to draw a few deep breaths. She could hear Carl on the other end, the mumble of his voice through the speaker.

Her hands shook, her head swam. She hadn't slept for 24 hours, and tiredness was easily turning into an all-consuming rage.

She brought the phone to her ear. He was quiet now, but she could still hear his breathing on the other end of the line.

"Carl," she started, "Do you understand what it was like for me to wake up after giving birth to find that there was nothing they could do, that the precious bundle in your arms was the only child I would ever have?" He lower lip trembled along with her chin, and Emma felt her throat burning, her eyes welling up with tears again. "I hated you for being you, for looking so happy as you held our baby." Emma cried into the scooped neckline of her nightgown, attempting to dry her tears. "You were so thankful and amazed, and all I wanted was to make Will happy like that. Not you! I gave you the most wonderful gift, and you never deserved it. You never loved me, and you certainly never loved Lacey. You adored her for a short while. But you never loved her."

"I tried, Emma! But you always pushed me away from her. She was yours from the moment you woke up in that hospital bed, and you made that very clear from the start!"

"I married Will," Emma threw at Carl. "I married him in New York." She brought her fingers to her lips. Why had she given Will her wedding ring? Why had she asked Will for a divorce? "He's my husband now."

Carl was silent, and Emma tried desperately to muffled her sobs with her hand.

"I won't come back for Lacey, Emma."

She heard his sigh, and then the click of the phone. As she listened to the engaged signal, Emma released a loud sob, but then clasped her hand to her mouth, remembering Lacey in the next room.

There had been so many times when Emma had felt like the poorest excuse for a mother. There had been nights when Emma had stolen to the bathroom to weep beneath the waterfall of the shower. There had been nights when Emma had set the clocks forward just to be able to tell Lacey it was bedtime because the day had been too long and she needed to cry herself to sleep. Sometimes, Lacey would call to her at her worst moments, and Emma would dry her tears, forget herself, and not let her daughter see her tears. Now, Emma couldn't stop crying. She couldn't pull it together.

Lacey padded back into the room, her dark hair falling over her eyes. "Mommy? Why are you crying?"

In New York, Emma had barely cried at all.

Lacey began to whimper, an abundance of tears falling over her cheeks. Sitting forward in bed, Emma held her arms out to Lacey, but the child stood by the doorway, rooted to the spot.

"Mommy…I want Will."

* * *

><p>After knocking, Emma could hear shuffling in the hallway, and then whispering, and then her father's encouragement to open the door. When the front door clicked open, Rose Pillsbury stood in the doorway of Emma's childhood home, her expression cast over with the usual glaze of disappointment.<p>

"Hi, Mom."

Rose pursed her lips. "You called last night, Emma. You didn't have to come over."

"Hi, Grandma!"

Rose held her arms out to Lacey, and mumbled, "My poor little baby! I haven't seen you for so long!", as she lifted her granddaughter into her arms.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Mom, I need you to take Lacey for today."

Lacey's head whipped around to look at Emma. "But, Mommy, I want to go and see Will, too!"

Emma's mother stared into her daughter's gaze. "You went to New York to see Will Schuester?"

Emma parted her lips, but before she could speak, planning on only telling a fraction of the truth, Lacey interrupted her.

"We stayed with him, Grandma, in his big house next to the park with the elevator and my purple bedroom that Will made Spanish men paint just for me!"

Emma sighed, taking in her mother's shocked expression. And surely Rose would grill Lacey for the rest of the details all day.

"Please let me come see Will, Mommy!" Lacey whined.

"No, Lacey. I'll be home to pick you up tomorrow." Emma kissed Lacey's forehead, and ran her fingertips over one of Lacey's plaits. "This time Mommy has to go and see Will by herself. "


	16. Part Two 7

_**AN: Thank you all for the amazing reviews for this story. This is the last chapter of the fic. There may be an epilogue to follow, so keep an eye out for that. Again, thank you for your support and patience with this story. I hope you enjoy the final chapter!**_

* * *

><p>At five-thirty, Will's buzzer rang loudly.<p>

"Mr Schuester?" the elderly doorman, Devon, asked through the receiver.

"Yes?"

"Miss Emma is here to see you. She wants to know if she has the permission to take the elevator to the penthouse to speak to you?"

"No. Tell her to stay there and I'll be down in a moment."

Will stepped outside to find Emma standing beneath the overshade of the apartment block, dark circles beneath her eyes and auburn hair wild. He'd never seen her so…messy, so unkempt. She gazed at him with wide tired eyes that glistened with unshed tears. He felt spiteful, angry, and so torn up by the way she watched him, her expression so pained and regretful.

Will could feel Devon's eyes on them, the elderly man standing at the top of the stoop. Devon had seen Emma arrive all those months ago, Will remembered, and he had watched her leave, too.

Emma focused her gaze on Will as he came closer to her. Her expression of shame quickly turned into concern. "Will, you look so pale…"

He stared at her blankly for a long moment, taking the time to battle his soaring heart from reaching any further inside of him to take more of his happiness away. He hadn't expected her to come back.

"Go away, Emma."

His gaze was lifeless. He didn't seem angry or sad, or as completely broken as Emma felt. She watched the sides of his mouth twitch, his stubbly jaw line clench. Emma tilted her head, trying to read hazel beneath half-lidded eyelids. If anything, she realised, he was disappointed.

"Will, can we please talk about this upstairs?" she whispered lowly.

"No. I don't want you up there."

"Will, I—

"I can't…I can't do this again. It's best for everyone if you just go home."

Will turned away and climbed the stoop to the entrance of the apartment block.

"I am home," Emma longingly called after him.

He stopped, and turned again, his stare boring into hers. Emma smiled softly as he tapped his way back down the stairs with the skill of a dancer.

He grasped her by the elbow and guided her a few paces down the street, out of earshot from the doorman.

"I want you gone," Will whispered in her ear, hid tone bitter. "I want a divorce, and I don't ever want to see or hear from you again." His breath was hot on her cheek, causing her to flush with embarrassment as the humid breeze of the last day of spring whirled around them. "I've tried to stop loving you, and that didn't work, so I tried to fix your broken heart. But that didn't work either. You can't trust anyone enough to really love them, and I'm tired of being the only one in this relationship who puts everything on the line." Emma watched Will closely, his stare so fierce and wild, his face so close she couldn't breathe. She swallowed, and his grip on her forearm tightened. "This is over, Emma."

He let go and left her standing there alone on the sidewalk in the sunset, yellow taxi cabs passing by and a car alarm ringing in the distance.

Emma climbed the steps, passed the concerned-for-his-job doorman, and entered the elevator. She swiped her spare key card and took the elevator to the penthouse. The doors opened.

"No!" Emma called out to a seemingly empty apartment, her limbs shaking from exhaustion and fright of the cruel side of him she had just seen for the first time. "You can't just push me away!" she cried loudly.

Will stepped out from the end of the hallway and into the foyer. "You left me, Emma. I can do whatever I want," he spat. "You're going to leave now."

"I'm so sorry, Will," she whimpered as he reached for the elevator button Lacey had always longed to press. Emma stepped between Will and the metal pad on the wall. She grasped Will's wrist to stop him from jabbing the button behind her back. "But I'm back. For good!"

"For good?" he asked, pausing his movements. He was so close that his hipbones pressed against hers. The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, catching her off guard as he waited for a response. A sob caught in her throat. She hadn't been with anyone for years, afraid of being hurt, and when she finally attempted it, this is what happened? Not much separated them. Her white summer dress was made of flimsy cotton, and his hand she had hold of was mindlessly, lovingly brushing against her hip, betraying Will's angry stare. She needed this, _oh god_, how she needed him. Will in his tight grey t-shirt and dark jeans that hung low on his hips. She could smell his aftershave where her nose pressed so close to the base of his neck.

She nodded sharply and reached to cup his face in her hands. But he wrapped his fingers around her wrists and pulled away from her touch. "You should go back to Lima, Emma. I don't think you really want to be here with me. You're doing it out of obligation. You feel bad because you used me. And you should. I want you to go."

"No, you don't."

"It doesn't matter," he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. "You want a divorce." He pulled away, and Emma drew a deep breath, trying to steady herself, lost without his touch.

"No, Will! Oh, no! I said that because I felt so guilty. I still feel guilty. But being apart from you makes me realise that coming here to apologise for what happened, and then having you as my husband forever, so that we can be happy forever, is better than saying sorry and goodbye."

He spun around.

"You should feel guilty. I thought you wanted me."

"I did want you. I do want you! I could have gone anywhere, but I came to you, because I knew you'd love me and keep me safe." She watched his stare become something greater than intense, something that made the trembling of her limbs stop, and her heart begin to pound. "I just didn't want to hurt you, Will," she struggled to finish.

"You tricked me," he yelled, his voice gravelly and booming. Emma froze in trepidation.

"I…I'm so sorry." _Is this what having a heart attack feels like?_ she wondered. "My heart was broken, and I knew you were the only man who could fix it. So I came to you. And then all of these feelings came rushing back. They were feelings I didn't know how to cope with."

He brought a hand to his forehead and rubbed at his temples. He stepped through the door to the next room, and out of sight again.

"Don't you walk away from me, Will!" Emma called out. "I'm your wife! I'm not one of those women you slept around with every night before I arrived. Actually, now that I think about it, probably while I was here!"

He paced back into the room, a new fire in his eyes. "I didn't sleep with anyone else since you came back to me! I haven't kissed or flirted with, or touched another woman since you came back to me! For months I haven't so much as looked at any other woman but you!"

"You're lying!" she accused. "I know there were, especially before me! And I'm sure you never cared about them. They were probably just cheap shots to keep yourself from being lonely. I was lonely, too Will, but I didn't screw around!"

Will walked to the leather couch and sat down, running a hand through his messy curls. "What happened before you arrived, and what happens now that you've left me, has nothing to do with you, Emma."

"Yes, it does," she clarified shrilly, licking her lips to prepare herself for battle. "I'm your _wife_. I'm not someone you can tie up and play dirty games with, or…f-fuck around with on that giant couch," she pointed to it, "that I'm sure you took more than one woman on!"

Will raised his hands in surrender, his astonished expression so offended and shocked by her uncharacteristic words.

"Is that what this is about, Emma?" he asked, standing to move closer to her. "You're angry and you're going to try to turn it around on me by making me out to be some sex maniac? Since you arrived in the winter, I haven't had sex once. _Except with my wife. On our wedding night._ And when we did, Emma, it was barely any good."

She scoffed, ready to defend herself, to defend them, but he continued without taking a breath. "I thought it was me, that I'd somehow forgotten how to make love to you because I'd fantasised about it too much. But now I obviously know that it was because you were guilty. Because you lied." Emma swallowed, leaning against the wall in defeat. "There's too much baggage between us, Emma." She closed her tired eyes, listening to his hollow voice. "It's not the same as it used to be."

"It is the same!" she cried, tears burning in her eyes. "And the sex…It was fine. It was…tender. It wasn't…bad."

Will scoffed. "It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great either." He moved to sit on the couch again, turning away from her gaze. "We used to have such fire and passion," he remarked.

"We had fire and passion on our wedding night!" she appealed. "Is getting rough with your wife suddenly your idea of hot sex?" she fumed, stepping closer.

"No!" he swore, eyes wide and flabbergasted. "Is that what passion means to you?" he exclaimed in question.

She looked down at her heels and shook her head, rouge tears falling in defeat. "I just…um…I feel like I'm…" she drew a shaky breath, feeling so weak that she had to give in and sit down beside him. "I want to be with you," she confessed once more. "But I'm done," she choked, a heaving sob falling from her lips,"…I'm done hurting."

Will's eyelids slipped closed and he released a gravelly whimper, too. Emma turned her head and watched his lips quiver, the pink flesh trembling and just begging to be kissed. Could she dare to reach out and cup his cheek? Press her lips against his? Before she could consider any other actions that could comfort her husband, he reached across and snaked an arm around her waist. He pulled her against him, and for the first time in two days, Emma felt as though she could actually sleep.

She pressed her forehead against his neck, and he ran his hand up and down her side, turning her into him. He smoothed a hand over her hair, and she felt her chest arch into him as he pressed a strong hand between her shoulder blades.

"Breathe, Em," he whispered, and when she did, Emma felt a little bit lighter. They sat like that for a long moment, holding, warming each other. Emma pressed herself into him, surrendering to the feelings of angst and heartbreak. Did this mean he had forgiven her? Or was this a final goodbye?

The way his hands touched her told her it wasn't a goodbye. And although that pounding feeling of guilt had all but evaporated as she curled into his hold, she knew she wasn't forgiven quite yet. She'd told the truth, owned up to her mistake. And she'd come back for him. But she needed to hear him say it was okay, that everything would be fine.

But his hands, _god_, those hands. He ran fingertips over the bare skin of her upper back, and then over her dress to where her spine travelled low. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and somewhere between shifting to be closer and shifting to hold each other more comfortably, they had become so close that his face pressed into her neck, and she could feel his heartbeat pounding against her breast.

And when his lips pressed against her pulse point, her entire body tingled with sexual pleasure. She shuddered, pressing her palms against his chest to push him away because it was too much and her insides were burning, twisting and aching with excitement.

"You're face is flushed," he murmured as he sat back and smoothed her hair away from her face.

Emma gazed up at Will, knowing he could read her like a book. She watched him closely, trying to express with her eyes what she couldn't with words.

_All I've ever wanted is you. _

She watched him swallow, and then, mind foggy, she relished in the warmth and pressure of his hands against her waist, pressing roughly as she fell on her back on the couch. He climbed over her, straddling her thighs. He held himself above her, pressed his lips against hers, and groaned so loudly Emma was certain she would climax before they had even begun.

He was quick to find the zipper at her side. Her dress gave way, loosening. She sat up to shrug it off, but he pressed a hand between her clothed breasts and pushed her down again. She fell against the mattress with a thud as he yanked the top of her dress down with one hand, and pushed the hem of it up so that the fabric pooled at her waist.

He stared down at her cream-coloured bra, and pulled a lacy cup down with his teeth, permitting his lips to discover a nipple and latch on so excitedly that Emma squirmed and whimpered.

She watched him as he sucked and kissed her skin, his eyelids fluttering and his aroused groans echoing around the foyer. His other hand fell between her legs, gripping her, rubbing along wet satin so furiously that Emma's entire body froze. She cried out loudly, her hands, which had been busy pushing his jeans and boxers down his thighs, latching onto the back of his legs. She pressed her fingernails into the skin of the backs of his thighs as she convulsed, her orgasm splintering inside of her.

He sat back, a wicked smile on his face as her eyelids slipped closed for a brief moment, basking in post-orgasm euphoria. She tried to catch her breath, but Will pulled her panties over her thighs, and pushed them to her ankles. Running a hand from the strap of her heel to the inside of her thigh, he pressed his thumb against her clit, and harshly pushed a finger inside of her.

"How hard did you come, Emma?" he panted, latching onto her other nipple.

She could feel the sweat breaking out over her abdomen where her dress was pooled.

"Tell me," he begged, his fingers moving too fast for her to be able to think let alone speak.

"Hard," she whimpered, feeling her naked behind stick to leather. "So hard."

Just as she was on the edge of a second orgasm, he pulled his finger from her body. "I need to...I need to be inside of you." He pushed his jeans and boxers to his knees and pressed his rigid length between her legs. She thrust against him, her body humming with desire as he desperately pushed into her.

She held onto his shoulders as he thrust and swivelled, and they pressed their bodies together with an energy and passion she had forgotten they had. He had been right. The pressure of his form against hers was maddening, so strong that she felt she couldn't move her lower body, that her release relied on Will's movements. She threw her head back and opened her eyes, giving in to him.

Emma gasped loudly. It was dark outside, but the moonlight was strong. What if someone could seem them through the window? Much to her shame, her entire body became hot at the thought.

Emma tried to stop squirming. "Will! The window!" she moaned, realising that her body was unable to stop. "Somebody might see."

"Oh…fuck!" he groaned, his thrusts becoming faster.

"Will, somebody might see us making love!" she cried, her insides clenching around him.

"Please don't say that," Will groaned, clearly just as aroused by the thought as Emma. "I can't hold on much longer."

"We should stop," Emma mumbled almost incoherently as Will reached beneath her and gripped her behind in his hands, drawing her into him with every thrust.

She clawed at his back, urging him on, everything about the moment overwhelming. Her body seemed to tighten in a way she'd never known.

"Will!" she cried out, and his lips covered hers as she contracted around him. He grunted and stilled as she squirmed, pressing herself against him as tightly as she could.

Her nerves tingled in bliss and her body fell limp beneath his.

His thumb was drawing circles against her hip again, the skin there tingling, distracting her.

Will stared into his wife's eyes, his gaze so peaceful and relaxed. "Sometimes I think that you believe I've changed."

She watched him, stared into his eyes.

"I'm the same Will Schuester you fell in love with all those years ago," he whispered softly. "And I want you so badly, Emma. It hurts me every day." She bit her lip, the tight feeling in her chest slowly loosening. He paused in a moment of contemplation. She watched his eyes glaze over with a newfound approach. "I forgive you. I forgive me. It's time to move on. Together."

Emma smiled widely, her naked breasts heaving. He looked down between them, and then back up at the window. He smirked, and then pulled out of her. Emma sighed at the sensation, unable to disguise her happiness and passion for him, and not wanting to. He pulled his pants back up, while Emma pulled her bra back to its proper position from where Will had pushed it down in his desperation. He drew her panties back up her legs, and she smiled when his hands stayed beneath her dress. For a moment, his hands lingered, smoothing over the curve of her behind as they lay back down together.

"I don't know who you think it is you're protecting," Will started as he withdrew his hands and zipped her dress back up. "Whether it's Lacey, or me, or even yourself. But it stops –now. I protect you from now on. You never have to worry about Carl, or me, or Lacey. It's my turn to take care of things. So let me take care of you." Emma's eyelids slipped closed in exhaustion. "Please, Emma," he whispered, tracing her smile with his fingertips. "I've never wanted anything more in my life the way I want you. I want a family with you. I want you, and Lacey, and I want more. I want kids that look just like both of us."

Emma's face scrunched up in pain, her first moment of true joy in so long ruined.

"I can't have any more children."

Will blinked twice. "What?"

"The letter I wrote you, the one about the birth being fine… It wasn't fine. I had a severe panic attack during labour, and I passed out. Lacey's heartbeat was poor, so they performed a C-section. They couldn't get Lacey out in time, so they had to…" She watched Will swallow, his eyes burning with tears of sympathy and grief for his own dead hopes. "It didn't go well, Will. I can't have any more children."

He pulled her into him, and pressed a gentle kiss to her hairline.

"I couldn't bring myself to tell you, Will. I didn't want to live in a world where I would never have a family with you. I loved Lacey so damn much, and knowing that was it, that I could never give you the kind of happiness that I knew every day, it almost ruined me."

"Oh, sweetheart," Will murmured. "We'll adopt. We'll figure it out."

"But you want—

"I want you. I want a family."

"I want you to have a child."

He paused. "Lacey turns five next week."

Emma pulled back, unsure where he was going with the statement. "And?"

"The day we got married, when I put her to bed, she asked me if I remembered her dad. I told her that I did, and she told me that she couldn't remember what he looked like. I tried to describe Carl, but she just seemed lost. She said 'Don't tell mommy!" and when I asked why, she said she didn't want you to be sad that she couldn't remember her daddy.

She told me that that her daddy wasn't like other daddies. I was caught off guard, so I asked her what she thought other daddies were like, and she did this cute little sigh, and she sounded just like you, Emma, and she said, "Will, do you love me?" And I told her that I did, and she said "Will, daddies are supposed to be like you." And then she sat up in bed and started crying, sobbing really. I was so angry at Carl, because here is this amazing little girl, so well-mannered and loving and smart, and she was so upset because she thought her daddy didn't love her.

So I told her that sometimes people go away so other people can come into our lives and spend more time with them. And I know it's selfish, but I told her that Carl went away so that I could spend more time with her, as her daddy. And she cried again, and told me that I wasn't her real daddy. So I said, "Well, Lace, what's a real daddy?" and she stopped, and she couldn't think of a reason. And then she smiled and laughed, "You married my mommy!"

Emma grinned, tears falling down over her cheeks. She pressed her lips against Will's cheek and then drew back, her bottom lip captured between her teeth. "That's beautiful, Will. But what has that got to do with Lacey turning five?"

"She asked me if, at her fifth birthday party, I could tell the kids at her party that I was her daddy."

Emma brought a hand to her forehead. "I promised her that if we came to New York for a while, I would think about letting her have a birthday party with some kids from kindergarten. I completely forgot."

"Well, she obviously hasn't."

"Sometimes the kids at school ask her why she doesn't have a daddy. She thinks about it a lot."

"Don't I know it…" Will laughed.

Emma pulled back. "Is this too much pressure? I know you said you want this, but its okay to feel overwhelmed by this new role."

Will brought Emma's palm to his lips. "I love you. And I love Lacey." Her fingers curled to stroke his jaw line. "We'll consider our options for starting a family later. At the moment, let's start the one that we already have." Emma watched him draw circles on her palm. "Move to New York with me."

Emma glanced up at Will who was very clearly unable to keep the grin off his face. Emma smiled widely and nodded. "Okay."

"Okay," Will repeated. "First of all, there's a birthday party to plan in Lima. A birthday party I'm particularly looking forward to."

"But will you be able to come to Lima next weekend?" Emma panicked. "What about the show? Could Joel understudy for you? And you have another audition on Friday!"

"Broadway will always be here," Will smiled, running a thumb over her cheekbone. "If not, I'll write Broadway a letter."


End file.
